The Magical Bat Year IV
by karanne
Summary: The fourth year of Mattie Wayne's magical education at Hogwarts.
1. 1 September, 2001

The Magical Bat IV.

#include stdDisclaimer.h: Batman, Catwoman, Alfred, Babs, Dick, Lucius Fox, and the others, are DC Comic's toys. Hogwarts, Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys and the others in the Potterverse belong to the fabulous JK Rowling. I'm just playing with them, and they'll be put back later. The Morton family is used with the permission of GITM. Everyone else, they're mine. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 Kara Anne Kalel karanne AT gmail DOT com. All rights reserved. No money is made, and no infringement is implied or intended.

This is a sequel to my stories: The Bat & the Cat, redux, The Magical Bat (I), Magical Bat: road trip (1.5), The Magical Bat II, Magical Bat: Training Trip (2.5), Magical Bat III, and The Magical Bat: Business Trip (3.5).

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1 – Prologue, Fourth Year   
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**_Saturday, September 1, 2001:  
London, Kings Cross station: 10:30 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"I have not had much chance to talk to you, my sister," Tomas said as they unloaded their school trunks from the van. "However, something is troubling you, and I will assist if I can."

"We've all said that," Arthur said, earning him a poisonous glare from Mattie. She sighed, then turned and apologized, "I'm sorry, I know I've been a bitch, but there are things I haven't worked through yet. Please bear with me."

"We are here to help, you don't have to save the world on your own," Julie said, glancing at her older brother. She didn't see Mattie's slight start as she lifted her trunk.

"Right now, I'll be happy just to get on the school train," Mattie replied, "Without being recognized," she added as she hugged her aunt goodbye.

------------------------

"Cor, isn't that Wayne?" someone asked as the group worked their way toward platform 9 3/4. They ignored the gossip as they got to platform 9, then Julie screamed, "Look, it's ELVIS!" As people turned to look, Mattie slipped through the barrier.

------------------------

Mattie was in a much better mood, she chuckled, saying, "Thanks, Julie. I needed that."

"No prob," she replied, then added softly, "I'm available to talk, too."

"Thanks, but one problem I really can't talk about, for security reasons," Mattie said, "It deals with the Guard's Intelligence operations, there's a... difference of opinion, and I'm not really happy with the way things worked out." She sighed, "People have said that I made the best decision with the information at hand, but still..." she sighed again, "When it comes to people's lives, it... well, I'm not happy with it."

"Hmf," Julie said. She walked a bit, adding softly, "The rumor mill at school has Professor Snape doing something with Intelligence. You might want to ask him."

"Thanks, I will," she replied, then Bill came up, "That is SO cool! Did you know people are still looking for Elvis out there?"

"You ain't seen nothing yet," his older sister said.

------------------------

"First years?" Arthur asked, levitating Bill's trunk. The two nodded, and Bill joined them as Arthur stowed his trunk. "Now, you saw where I'll be?" Arthur asked, "Three up and to the right. You got any wizard money left?"

Bill nodded, "I'll change into my uniform when the witch comes by with the snack cart. There's a huge amount of food at the feast, so don't ruin my appetite," he quoted, then asked, "Sure you won't tell me what the Sorting's like?"

"It's different for everyone," Arthur said solemnly. "It's not _too_ painful."

"_That's_ reassuring," the girl asked, "Is it like an ear piercing?"

"Don't know, never had one pierced," Arthur replied, tugging on his earlobes. He ruffled his brother's hair as he squirmed, "Good luck to all of you," and left the compartment.

"Gaa, how embarrassing," Bill said as he plunked onto a seat. "Bill Morton," he introduced himself, "And that was my big brother Arthur."

"Anna and Warren Driver," the girl said, fluffing out her long, dark brown curls. "A Yank?"

"Trust fund only pays for Hogwarts," Bill explained. "I've tried to find out what the Sorting ceremony is like, but gotten nothing. Even my copy of the Complete History of Hogwarts has just a blank section. You two had any better luck?"

"No, mate, but I did see a celebrity that goes to Hogwarts," Warren said. "You hear of Mattie Wayne?"

Bill was surprised, "Sure, she's sorta kinda been dating my brother, but she's mad at him for some reason. She plays Seeker on Slytherin's Quidditch team. Any idea what house we'll be put in?"

"I will be in Ravenclaw, of course," Anna said proudly. "I match all their qualities of intelligence and high academic achievement." She glared at her brother, "He will no doubt be a Hufflepuff."

"My brother's a Huffie, my sister's a Gryff," Bill said. "My grades aren't good enough for Ravenclaw, and I'm not a politician like Mattie, so Slytherin is out. They say the Gryffs are the 'white knights' that ride off to rescue the maiden, like Dudley Do-Right," Anna stifled a giggle, "So that eliminates Gryffindor."

Warren glanced at his sister, "You mentioned the Mounties, she's always had a thing for them. Last Halloween, she got dressed up as one..."

"Warren!"

------------------------

After getting Bill situated, Arthur entered the compartment to find his supposed girlfriend under a privacy spell with the other girls. He sat next to Charlie and Andrew, who said, "They've been in there now for a few minutes. I wonder what they talk about?"

"Boys, of a cert," Anne said as she entered the compartment. She glanced up, the overhead storage for the trunks was full, so she stacked hers with the boys and sat next to them. She sighed, "When I journeyed to this century, I thought I had considered all things, but some still disquiet me." She looked at the three boys, "Prithee, thou art male, coulds't thou enlighten me?"

Charlie looked at the other two as the train whistle blew, the carriage starting with a jerk, "We'll do our best, if you'll return the favor about girls. Even this one, with four sisters doesn't always understand."

"Aye, I am confounded by this 'girl thing' and 'guy thing' I doth hear of," Anne replied. "Do you not have late night discussions of thy maidens, as we do of our suitors?"

"We talk about our girlfriends, but not to the extent that I think you do," Arthur said slowly, the other two nodding. "When I've overheard my sisters, they go into what I would call excruciating detail, but guys..."

"Guys kid and joke around, I think you girls get more, um..." Charlie offered, Andrew adding, "...more value for the discussion. We don't actually solve the problems, not that any are offered." He glanced at the other boys, "We'll offer suggestions privately, later, like Arthur and Mattie, but in public, no, we joke around about it."

"Ah," Anne said. She reflected for a moment, ankles crossed and bouncing back and forth under her long skirt, "What are we to do with these two star-crossed lovers? Of a cert, they need help."

"I don't need help," Arthur said mulishly. "She does."

Anne tisk'd, "There be two sides to a coin when struck by the King's goldsmith, there be two sides to this coin as well. One must rub away the dirt and see the fine gold. What doth trouble you about thy maiden?"

Arthur reflected, then said slowly, "My side is I did the best thing I could think of to deal with a dangerous situation with a minimum of risk. Her side is she thinks I betrayed her."

"Details, mate, make with the details," Charlie said.

"Sorry, no. You'll need to ask her."

Charlie snorted and sat back, "We'll never find out that way. Sooner to break into the Bank of England." He looked at Anne, "You room with her, can you try?"

"You _both_ need help," Anne said primly. She pulled her ankles up to rest her chin on her knees, she mused, "She is bothered by what occurred with our last flight, and is feeling guilty of the invasion." She glanced at the three boys, then relaced her fingers around her ankles. "I hath reminded her that not all plans go to form, there are variables in each equation that affect the outcome. I hath also said that we knew not of the invasion until our return. Still, she blames herself for ..."

When Anne didn't go on, Andrew asked gently, "For what?"

"I am sworn to secrecy, I cannot say," Anne said reluctantly.

"The only thing that would eat at her like that would be..." Charlie said, looking at the others.

"A death," Andrew finished quietly.

------------------------

"Is that a panther?" Anna gasped as she saw Ginny move down the swaying corridor as people changed in their compartments.

"His name's Shadow," Ginny said as she came nose to snout with him. He sniffed her thoroughly, then 'youped' and moved off with Ginny down the train's corridor.

------------------------

"Firs' years over here!" the large man called down the train platform, "Firs' years over here!"

"Hagrid!" Mattie called, and a grin split his face as he waved, "'Lo, Miss Wayne. Come by for a cuppa?"

She cut through the crowd, giving the half-giant a hug that he returned, "Hopefully more than one. I'm sorry I missed your classes last year." She smiled at Bill, then said, "Hello, Warren Warren. Glad to see you, Hagrid will take good care of you." She glanced at the stunned brunette next to him, offering her hand, "Mattie Wayne."

"She's a little tongue tied," Warren said. "This is my sister Anna." A whistle blew, and Mattie smiled, "I've got to go. Later, Hagrid."

"C' by later, Miss Wayne, Fang's missed you," he said as she moved off, resuming the call, "Firs' years over here!"

------------------------

A blonde witch in pale emerald robes waited at the top of the stairs for the nervous firsties. "Good evening. I am Deputy Headmistress Vector. In a moment, I will take you to be sorted into one of four houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Your house is your family while you are at Hogwarts, good grades and following the rules will gain points, while misbehavior and rule breaking will cost points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House cup." She favored them with a glance, "You have a minute to straighten up. I suggest you do so." She left them, walking through the anteroom, and getting Minerva's nod.

Anna straightened her brother's shirt collar, asking, "How do I look?"

He reached over to brush off her shoulders, and swallowed nervously, "As good as ever."

Vector reappeared silently. "If everyone is ready, please follow me," opening the doors to the Great Hall, leading the line of nervous firsties.

------------------------

"Morton, William!"

Bill swallowed convulsively before he made his way between the two tables, and sat on the old stool. "Bill, please," he asked. Callista smiled at him, then lowered the Hat onto his head.

"_Hello, Mr. Morton, and welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Alastair, and I see you're a bit like your brother and sister." _

"_Hello, Mr. Alastair. How do you mean? Are you reading my mind?" _

"_Why, yes child, how else do you expect me to sort you?" _The Hat sighed,_ "Now do you have any questions?" _

"_I've been thinking, and I don't see how I'd fit into any of the houses. I'm not super smart like Ravenclaw, and I'm not brave like Gryffindor. I guess I'm a boring old Hufflepuff like Arthur." _

"_Boring? I should say not!" _The Hat snorted._ "Just because they are not glory-seekers does not make them boring, or second-class, which is what you're implying, Mr. Morton. I will not have you disparage a fine house like Hufflepuff with many, many great witches and wizards because you find them 'boring'. No, son, I've been doing this for many a year, and every single witch and wizard, including those intimidating Professors you see sitting up there frowning at you, were once just as terrified as you are." _

"_Then why did you put Arthur and Julie where you did?"_ Bill asked.

"_That, Mr. Morton, is a very private matter between them and myself."_ The Hat rebuked. _"Just as this conversation is. I remember all those conversations, going back centuries. Indeed, I was recently fortunate enough to meet a young lady who would wear me in years to come, and who consented to wear me again. Most intriguing, but I digress. We are here to sort you. Now then, where to put you? I don't think you would fit in Ravenclaw, you're definitely intelligent enough, but you don't have their burning __hunger to know." _He announced, "Not Ravenclaw!" to assorted groans.

"_For the simple reason that you don't have what I call the 'white knight' motivation, I'm also going to rule out Gryffindor. While I think you'd rescue someone in danger, you don't go seeking it out,"_ he said, calling, "Not Gryffindor!" to groans, whistles, and money changing hands. _"Similarly, Mr. Morton, whilst you like Miss Wayne, you are nothing like her. Your attempts at subtle manipulation are not particularly clever, they would eat you alive."_ Bill started, and Alastair chuckled, _"Not physically, of course. It would not be a pleasant experience for you, you don't have enough of the predator in you."_

"_So I'm left with the 'catch-all' house, Hufflepuff,"_ Bill thought in disgust.

"_No, I'm putting you in Hufflepuff because you're not a Gryffindor rule-breaker, it isn't in your character, Mr. Morton. You're not a manipulative, aggressive Slytherin, and while studious, you're not the type to sleep in the library. You'll do enough studying to grasp the concept and perform the task, you're not the kind to delve into the history and the subtle ramifications of a spell. A Ravenclaw ignores food, sleep and hygiene to research. You have common sense, which this tired old world needs a great deal of. Are we clear on that?"_ Alastair asked.

"_All right,"_ Bill thought, and Alastair grunted. _"Good. You can always come and see me, I'm usually on a shelf in the Headmistress' office, unless I'm watching a Quidditch practice or a game. Are you planning to... good. Well, best of luck in the tryouts for Quidditch, and I wanted to draw it out a few seconds longer. Congratulations, you're now the record holder for the longest Sorting."_ Alastair shouted, "**HUFFLEPUFF**!"

------------------------

The Headmistress stood, tapping her goblet. As the noise quieted down, she said, "Thank you. Now that we have eaten, I have just a few start-of-term announcements. As always, magic is forbidden in the corridors, and Mr. Filch's list of banned items has grown to seventy two feet, should you care to peruse it." There was general laughter, "The Forbidden Forest remains strictly forbidden to all students, as I presume you do not wish to die a _most_ horrible death." Minerva favored them with a look, "Professor Potter will be having his usual informal seminar for the muggleborn firsties after breakfast tomorrow at the Quidditch pitch. Classes start Monday, so off to bed with you."

------------------------   


"Anna Nicole Driver," the nervous firstie said as she smeared her blood on her name. She held her breath until it started to rotate with the others, when the other members of the Den applauded.

"Excellent," Professor Snape said. "As a member of Slytherin, we support each other, even if we disagree in private. If you need assistance with your studies, seek out another member of the den for private tutoring. Ladies, if you need a pass for your monthly time, please do not hesitate to ask myself or a nurse. However, if you are using it to skive off class, _I will know_." He favored them all with a glower. "Any detentions you earn will be doubled by me. Lastly, I will be _most_ unhappy with an unplanned pregnancy, potions are available from myself or the nurse. I expect you to exercise discretion. Mr. Dorney?"

"Thank you, professor," he said as the professor departed. "Sound travels up and down the stairwells, if you snore, have sex or otherwise make noise, please be courteous and use silencing spells. One last bit of advice to the firsties," he added. "Believe every word."

------------------------   


Sprink was hanging upside down from her broom as she maneuvered the large portrait of Anne's 14th century family into place, while a somewhat shell-shocked Anna watched. Waving a hand over her eyes, Connie whistled, "Hello there? Anna, was it? You in there?"

"Yes, I... I apologize, I was just so certain that I would be in Ravenclaw. I even had the routes to the classrooms memorized from their tower."

"The 'Claws think too much," Sprink claimed from her upside down position, the back of her skirt hanging down, the front clenched between her knees.

"I can sympathize," Ami Bones said from where she was undressing. "My family has been Hufflepuff for centuries, and then I'm sorted into the Den. Talk about a shock to the family." She tossed her blouse at the foot of her bed, "I got screeching from family members when I went home for Christmas, 'Slytherin! How could you be a Slytherin? They're evil, that's where You-Know-Who came from!' Bah!" she snorted, "I'm not planning on conquering the world, thank you."

"But... but... Wayne is a Slytherin, and..."

"She? A world-conquerer?" Anne snorted, "Sooner that I would."

"Mattie is NOT a world-conquering type," Sprink said, flipping back up right on her broom, then jumping off it.

"Too much paperwork," Mattie said, from where she was leaning against the doorframe to the loo, dressed in a grey XXL Gotham Knights jersey she wore as a nightdress, a black knight in a helmet centered in a yellow field on her chest. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, though, guys." Her bare feet slapped against the fieldstone floor as she pulled a pillow off the bed, hugging it as she sat against the frame and asking the air, "Cindy?"

A house elf popped into the room, immediately squealing, "Mistress Wayne!" in delight.

"Now Cindy, what did we discuss about the word 'Mistress'?" Mattie asked with a smile.

"You does not like it, Miss Wayne," the house elf said, "I is sorry, but I is happy to sees you again."

"That's all right, I forgive you. I apologize, but I've been off planet. What's been happening with the elf council?" The house elf immediately cast a privacy spell, and Sprink said from her bunk, "They'll be a moment. Now, Anna, one word of advice about our favorite girl billionaire, she wants to be treated just like everyone else. That can be kinda hard, but as long as you don't prank her weapons, desk or her laptop, she won't mind. 'Specially the weapons, they're real, an' it's a safety thing."

"She's a martial artist," Connie chimed in from her seat on the floor, "She teaches classes on Sunday afternoons. If you want to know how to fight, she'll teach you." She settled more comfortably, adding, "Ever hear of Gotham City?"

"I have heard of it," Anna said, finally relaxing enough to pull off her skirt, and take a seat on the floor. "A mid-sized Yank city with a crime problem, isn't it?"

"Saying that Gotham has a crime problem is like saying the French like to surrender," Connie said. "The city's unofficial nickname is 'The city of nightmares,' but don't tell her that, she's proud of that hell-hole."

"Hey, I don't dump the Big Apple," Mattie said, causing several to jump. "Don't dis my 'burg, or we'll haveta come over there and teach you New York pansies how to rumble in th' jungle." She sat back, "My grammar school could'a kicked your butts back to Hoboken. Now, enough wi' the 'Dump on Wayne' bit, or I'll feed youse a knuckle sammich." She waved her right fist theatrically, then grinned,"Tonks, what's up wi' you and Cholie? Spill, baby, spill. Cindy will be back with hot chocolate in a minute."


	2. Week Two, 2 – 8 September, 2001

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For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
2 – Week Two, 2 – 8 September, 2001, Fourth Year   
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**_Sunday, September 2, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin girl's dorm: 03:14 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

Anna awoke at... she wasn't sure what. She heard a rhythmic thumping sound from the dorm below. '_I can't sleep_,' she told herself, pulling on her robe and stealing downstairs.

At her knock, an older girl '_Sprink_,' she reminded herself, opened the door, putting a finger over her lips for silence and motioning her in. As she stepped in, she saw what looked like a sleeping Mattie Wayne move through a series of violent punches, spins, and kicks. What was strange about it was that she would suddenly stop and repeat a blindingly fast series, over and over with no difference that she could see. She looked over to see her new housemate again motioned for silence as the sleeping girl tracked them as they moved across the room. Sprink escorted her into the loo, closing the door and moving down toward the end of a line of sinks, where an electric teakettle and a coffeemaker waited, plugged into a grey metal adapter on the wall, resting on a board across two sinks. Cream, sugar and a small bowl of lemon wedges among other things rested on the small shelf above.

"Keep y' voice down, and I'll explain that," Sprink said, jerking her head toward the door. "First, she's not really asleep, she's meditating, she uses it to substitute for sleep. She usually gets up at three during the week, and sleeps in on the weekend. Second, the perimeter spell she uses hasn't yet sorted you into 'friend' or 'enemy' yet, which is why I escorted you."

"What is she doing? I couldn't detect a difference," Anna asked.

"It's what's known as a 'kata', and she's going over a recent fight she had, looking for differences, trying out different things," Sprink explained. "Probably the one she had in Hyde Park a few weeks ago, I never did hear the reasoning behind it, she was fighting some Asian woman about something, it must have been something to see. She pulled out _all_ the stops – all of them."

"What do you mean, all the stops?"

"That girl out there is able to kill you in any number of hideous ways, but she's sworn an oath NOT to kill. She has something like ten black belts in three or four different martial arts, but she will not kill." Sprink saw Anna's eyes, adding, "Na, you're in no danger. Furthermore, she's the _least_ trained in her family, her father, God rest his soul, her mother, and her brother Dick are _all_ better fighters than her." Sprink looked at the younger girl, "I've been to her hometown, they learn to fight when they learn to stand there. It's a beautiful city, but they're all nutters. They have to be."

"But with this fight in Hyde Park," Anna asked slowly.

"She was trying to kill this other, and she was over matched," Sprink said. "WAY over matched, like you takin' on Professor Potter in a duel. There were only two witnesses here ta that fight, one of them is her boyfriend, but neither one is talking. We think that's why she's mad at him." The kettle blew, and Sprink moved to fix a cuppa, offering Anna one.

Anna blew on her tea, "What were they fighting over?"

"No one knows," Sprink said, squeezing a wedge of lemon into hers. "That Superman bloke came by and flew them off, an' then Mattie went off planet. Anne knows about that, she went along, but they aren't talking about THAT, either." She pushed her hair out of her eyes, muttering "I need a trim," then continuing, "If she doesn't want to talk about something, no use pestering her, she just won't."

"So how do we help her?" Anna asked, as she sipped her tea.

"Like a true Slytherin, from another angle, at their weak points," Sprink grinned. "For the off-planet stuff, we work on Anne, and Ami will be working on the other witness to that fight, Arthur's sister Julie. They're year-mates, y'see, and Julie's an impressionable Gryff."

------------------------

"Mail's here!" someone called, as a flock of owls (and bats) fluttered into the Great Hall. As usual, the muggleborn firsties like Anna shrieked as they wheeled overhead, the smaller, lighter bats landing with grace in front of Wayne, while the owls hissed at each other, some bearing red envelopes.

"They won't hurt you, they're post owls," Connie told Anna, stroking the head of one, and feeding it a sausage. "Mattie, may we?" she called down the table. Getting a wave, she told Anna, "The red ones are called howlers, and are usually from fans upset about last night's game. You open them, and I'll banish them."

"Fans? What game?" Anna asked, gingerly untying a howler from an owl, who took off.

"Wayne owns the Ballycastle Bats, a professional Quidditch team," Ami said, munching on a bit of toast, and gesturing down the table. "The bats are memoranda, mail from the home office, that kind of thing." She untied a howler, drawing her wand and throwing it in the air, where she banished it.

Down the table, Anne was working on something, feverishly scribbling notes in a book while she consulted her laptop. A short professor stopped by, entering in an arcane discussion with her, Anna overheard something about 'zero-point energy fields' and 'quantum tunneling'. Connie took pity, "She's our resident mad scientist, Professor Flitwick ..."

"Head of Ravenclaw," Sprink interjected.

Connie continued, "Anyway, she'll get these ideas, and start scribbling away, totally loses track of time. He's the only one that understands what she's talking about, but if you come into a classroom and she's still there, just let her be."

"Keep a supply of self-inking quills with you," Ami said. "She's always losing them, so we each keep a supply, and just slide it onto her desk. Flitwick's said something to the staff, she never gets in trouble for missing a class, we help her get up to scratch when she comes up for air. That might be in ten minutes, or ten hours, we don't know."

"I've looked into some of her notebooks," Connie said. "Now, I did pretty well in math in school, took some basic trig and algebra, but she's way past that. This looks like something out of the Manhattan Project, and she's got these books from MIT..."

"Then how did she get sorted into Slytherin?" Anna asked. '_And not I_!' she wondered.

"You'd have to ask the Hat, not that he'd tell you," Sprink replied cheerfully. "He's the only one who'd remember, her family's long dead, she's staying with her descendants in London."

"Excuse me?"

"Time traveler," Connie said matter-of-factly. "Fourteenth century. You want that last boiled egg?"

------------------------

Professor Snape strode into the Great Hall, Anna looking nervously at him. He favored her with a nod, and was stopped by Wayne, who discussed something with him, passing a sheet of paper to him. He examined it, lips pursed and frowning, then nodded, continuing on. Once at the head table, he discussed the sheet with the Headmistress and another witch, passing it down the table. Quills were brought out, and the sheet was signed as the Headmistress stood, butter knife tapping on her goblet.

"Good morning, everyone. I presume everyone is looking forward to another year?" she asked. "I have a few announcements to make. Firstly, due to another commitment, the annual student – alumni Quidditch match will not be held this year." She waited for the groans to subside, adding with a small smile, "Therefore, all your wagers are nullified. However, I think you'll enjoy this, we will again be participating in the International Academic Quidditch tournament, to be held this year at Hogwarts." She waited for the excited murmur to die down, adding, "This will be held during the Easter holiday, and we will be playing other schools from around the world. Each of them will be sending their best, so it is required we do the same. Students and faculty will be voting on the best players, so I ask that you not vote exclusively for your house. In addition, I am implementing a rule that the primary and reserve teams from each house must switch after each sixty minutes of play." There was muttering about this, "After all, Hogwart's winning player might be on a house's reserve team."

The formidable Headmistress waited for the murmuring to die down, before tapping her butter knife again, "Secondly, Miss Wayne had an announcement to make. Miss Wayne?"

Wayne stood up, "Thank you, ma'am. On Saturday, October 20th, I'll be participating in the London half-marathon run for breast cancer. If you'd like to help, there are pledge sheets that will go around each house, and my morning running buddies will also have them. The way this works, you pledge to donate a certain amount for each kilometer I run. The course is 21 kilometers, so if you mark down five galleons, at the exchange rate of five pounds, that's..."

"Five hundred twenty five pounds," Arthur said from Hufflepuff.

"Five hundred twenty five pounds," Mattie repeated. "Now, I'm not only looking to beat my best time, but make a nice donation for a worthy cause. Guys, it's not only a woman's disease, you get it too, but think of your mothers, sisters, and aunts. If you're interested in running with us, let me know. Any questions?"

"What's your best time?" someone shouted.

"One hour, twenty three minutes, fifty six seconds," she replied. She waited, looking about the Great Hall, then sat down.

------------------------

"Coming through!" someone called, and half a dozen people flew by on broomsticks as people walked to the pitch. There was a 'Ye-ha!' as someone did a barrel roll as they climbed, Julie looking at them wistfully.

"You gonna try out?" Ami Bones asked as they walked. Julie sighed again, "It looks like so much fun..."

"You know Gryff needs the help," she replied. "Last year's team was pitiful."

"Don't remind me," Julie said. "Bill's going to try out, he loves to fly."

------------------------

"Professor McGonagall," Mattie asked. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor?"

The tall Headmistress looked over her spectacles, "What is it, Miss Wayne?"

"I took the chance for a bit of shopping, and picked up birthday and Christmas presents for Cassidy. She'll be 24 on March 15, 2391, and I was wondering if I could leave them with you?"

"For 400 years?" The headmistress stopped short. "How big are they?"

"390 years, actually," Mattie grinned. "It's a boxed set of DVD's, her Christmas present is a small portable DVD player."

"Wouldn't a card work just as well?" Her reply was a look, and she said, "Oh, all right. Bring them by, please." She raised a finger, "I expect you to do well in the International competition in April."

"I plan to. Thank you, ma'am. I'll have Cindy drop them off."

------------------------

"Miss Wayne, a moment?" Mattie turned to see Ginny Potter striding toward her. She shifted her broomstick to the other shoulder, waiting for the older witch to catch up. "Miss Wayne," she started as the two started walking, "I must apologize," she said. "I was very short with you the other day in Diagon Alley, without cause. I hope you'll accept my apology."

"Of course, it never happened," Mattie said. She stopped, looking up and following Ginny's gaze at the visible moon, red dot visible on it.

"What is it like?" Ginny said softly. "Space. The moon, the stars. Other planets. What are they like?"

"You'll find out," Mattie promised quietly. "Help us build it. We need to get off this planet, and you can help us do it. Your children can stand on alien worlds, but we need help in doing it."

"You'll have it."

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 3, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin girl's dorm, loo: 06:48 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"I can't tie this tie!" Anna panicked, staring into the mirror. "I'm not a bloke!"

"Gimme," Connie said, pulling hers loose and tossing it over. The older girl caught Anna's in return, and tied it with a few quick motions. "I'll show you how tonight. Where's our mad scientist?" she asked as she inspected Anna.

"Still scribbling away," Mattie said, giving another firstie one final inspection. "I'll get her."

"Here she is," Sprink said, pushing the protesting girl ahead of her. "G'wan, I'll get her there in time," as Anne was saying something about slowing light. She asked, "Did you get to bed at all last night?"

"Nae, I hath discovered how to channel a beam of light through an antimagnetic field, it doth reduce..." is the last Anna heard as the stairway door closed.

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 3, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 07:04 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Driver," Professor Snape murmured as he passed over her schedule. "Koslowski... Bones... Tonks... Miss Bundy, on time for once... Wayne... Mr. Pellew..." He looked up, "Miss Wayne, we are considering your proposal, we shall let you know."

"Good enough, sir," she replied, "Hello, Anne? Breakfast? Most important meal of the day?"

"Has she always been like this?" Connie asked.

"Oh, yeah, you should have seen her in her home time," Mattie replied, gazing fondly at the preoccupied girl. "Three or four inkpots with dribbled ink, streaks of ink in her hair and on her blouse," she plucked a quill from behind Anne's ear, where she was absently searching for one she had just put down a second ago, and handed it to her. "Thank god for non-staining ink," she added, buttering a scone and putting a dollop of scrambled egg on top, then handing it to Anne, who took a bite, then set it down, writing equations around it in her notebook.

"What _is_ she working on?" Connie asked, as the scone was handed to Anne again, who managed two bites before answering, "Simultaneity." At the blank looks, she sighed, "If you hath two observers, one on a train, the other on a station, and one flashes a light that instant, the one on the train sees the light at both ends of the train, whilst the one on the station sees one end approaching and one end receding." She took another bite, then flipped to a fresh page and started to sketch, adding, "Thou hath known about it since 1898, I am horribly behind and must catch up."

Connie waved her hand over her head, as Anne continued, taking another bite and washing it down with a gulp of tea, when Ami asked, "Why not use a spell?"

"There is no precision to that, I hath targeted a specific point in history, and am trying to work out how to create my wormhole without using a black hole." She finished the scone, taking another one and dabbing eggs on it, "Most efficient, this, I was becoming hungry. I believe thou woulds't not appreciate my destroying the planet in order to visit my kin."

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 3, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Arithmancy class: 13:04 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Good afternoon, everyone!" Professor Vector said as the door closed. "Welcome to fourth year Arithmancy. Now, your assignment over the summer was to take the precise moment of birth for a friend or relative, and calculate it forward. Who'd like to start off? Mr. Morton? You needn't give a name, but a sex and date of birth."

Arthur cleared his throat, "Um, yes. She was born May 31, 1988, on the east coast of the US, and what I've calculated doesn't match what I've seen her do."

"I think we hath the same person," Anne murmured, and Arthur stole a look at her.

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 3, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Astronomy tower: 22:04 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to first year Astronomy," Professor Sinestra said. "Astronomy is not only finding the different planets, which has been getting quite a bit of news recently, but also casting horoscopes, and we'll be trying a bit of celestial navigation this year as an experiment. Now then, let's see who's here. Abercrombie? Bates? Driver? Ah, both of them..."

------------------------

"Now then," Professor Sinestra said, waving her hand, and the room filled with a galaxy's stars as the students gasped in awe. "This is our galaxy, the Milky Way." She walked through it, lines appearing in it as she said, "We're in this sector, number 2814," the sector with its planets filling the room. "Who can name a star?"

"Epsilon Eridani," Bill said.

"An K2 variable sequence star," the professor said, motioning to one and it filled the room. "10.5 light years from us, looks like a thriving space-based economy," as a tiny starship zoomed into her ear. "I see one habitable planet, orbital industry, looks like a nice place to live. What's another one?"

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 4, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Greenhouse four: 09:06 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Good morning, good morning everyone! Welcome back to Hogwarts and fourth-year Herbology!" the ever-pleasant Professor Sprout said. "We are fortunate today to be able to jump right in, does everyone have their dragon-hide gloves? Yes, well, very good! Whilst I do the roll, please pass these stoppered bottles down. Let's see, Mr. Adams and Miss Bundy are here..."

"Ugh, bubotubers," one of the twins said. "Like popping an enormous zit."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 4, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Potions dungeon: 13:00 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

Bill slid into a seat just as the bell rang, the door slamming shut. His brother and sister had both warned him not to be late to Snape's class, and not to speak after the bell rang. Julie especially had horror stories about this class. "Thank God I'm in Hufflepuff," he whispered, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice whispered in his ear, "God has very little to do in my class, Mr. Morton. Two points from Hufflepuff for tardiness, another two for speaking after the bell rang, and don't let it happen again."

"No, sir," Bill agreed.

Snape, with a sweep of his black cape, whispered, "Mr. Morton, with two siblings here, has I am certain been studying his first-year texts, as well as the abominable book '_Potions for Muggles_'. Would you agree with my assessment on that tome, Mr. Morton?"

"Um..." Bill paused, and Snape said, "We're waiting, Mr. Morton. Your assessment of '_Potions for Muggles_', please?

"Question, sir?" At Snape's nod, he asked, "Was it written by a wizard or a muggle?"

"Excellent question, Mr. Morton, the first I have received on that point. It was indeed written by a wizard, now for the second time, your assessment?"

"Sir, bearing in mind I lack the experience to properly review it, I believe several sections could have been written clearer."

"More clearly, Mr. Morton. I insist on proper grammar and punctuation on the reports you will be submitting," the professor said, tapping a finger on his chin. "You are using the Queen's English, I expect to read it, not this modern gibberish. You have been taught proper sentence structure, you will use it." He looked down his nose at Bill, "One point for raising a salient point, another for a somewhat confused reply with a disclaimer, which is nevertheless accurate. I will subtract a point for poor grammar, you have earned back one of your four points for Hufflepuff, Mr. Morton."

He spun, "Mr. Driver, what did you think of chapter one of the book in question?"

------------------------

Professor Snape towered over the class, informing them, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. I do not expect you at this early stage to understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses." He looked about the class, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death," he said with a glower, "If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

------------------------

"So how was Snape's first class?" Arthur asked his younger brother as they sat down for dinner.

"Lost four points, got one back," Bill replied morosely.

"Don't worry, you got one back, from _Snape_," a housemate said. "Could be worse, you could be a Gryff," and people winced in sympathy.

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, September 5, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Potions dungeon: 08:58 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

Julie slid into her seat with two minutes to spare, Ami Bones a few seconds after her. Tomas dropped his case and bag, smiling at the two girls, asking, "How are you ladies?"

Ami and Julie both sighed, then jumped as Professor Snape said, "They are alive, and in class, Mr. Ramirez. Miss Bones, I wish to discuss your summer potion after class." He strode to the lectern as four other people thundered in, flicking his wand to close and lock the door as someone crashed into it from the outside, their hand briefly appearing on the glass. Smiling cruelly, he took out the roll, "Let us see who is tardy."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, September 5, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 09:02 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Good morning, good morning!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "Welcome to Hogwarts, and first year charms! Now, when I call your name, please let me know if you're not here." He settled his half-moon spectacles on the tip of his nose as the class groaned at the tired joke, "Miss Abercrombie? Oh, yes, there you are my dear. Mr. Bates? Yes, yes, I remember you from your Sorting! And the Driver twins, such fortune to be twins, it will only aid your magic. Miss Evans, any relation to Miss Lily Evans of Gryffindor? Ah, I'm certain you'll do wonderfully... "

------------------------

"Now then," the tiny professor said, stroking his bushy white whiskers. "What is a charm? A charm is something of a catch-all title, it is a spell that will make something behave un-naturally, but it is not a hex, jinx or curse, nor is it transfiguration. A charm can be very powerful, such as the Patronus charm, it can also be used to grow hair or make a chair tap-dance. Or," he added, "Grow hair on a tap-dancing chair." There was a chuckle, the professor clapped his hands, "Who knows one?"

Bill raised his hand, "_Impedimentia_, sir."

"Oh, your brother and sister have been coaching you!" Professor Flitwick almost danced with glee. "Now, strictly speaking, that's a curse, which you'll go over with Professor Potter. Still, let's have at it, now, Mr. Morton!"

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, September 5, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Potions dungeon: 13:00 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

The door slammed and locked, Professor Snape taking his accustomed place as the room was silent. "Welcome to fourth year potions," he intoned, gazing about the silent, attentive students. "This year, we will not only be studying antidotes, we will also be looking at some fifth year potions in preparation for your OWL examinations." He glanced about as if expecting to hear complaints. "Since I have begun this practice, my students have, by and large, done exceptionally well in their examinations, not only in Potions, but in other areas. Indeed, I am pleased to say that I have had two students go on to become licensed as my fellow Potion Masters." He gazed about the room, "I have high expectations of a few of you. Do not fail me." He waited, regarding the silent students, then slapped the chalkboard with his wand. "Wit-sharpening potion. While the use of this is forbidden for examinations, and it can be addictive, the normal usage is..."

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, September 5, 2001:  
β Crucis 6a, **Query**: 23:54 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"_Query_, I have you on final, please transfer control," the controller said from the com screen, then added casually, "What's the story, what happened to _S'na'd_, and when did you get a collar, L'jissa?" She leaned forward, the lights white on her black collar, "News, twice-sister, news!"

L'jissa pushed buttons, "Control transferred, approach," then added, "Cropag tricked me into a judicial collar, but my new master," she turned slightly toward Eddie, "managed to kill the p'kat, thank the Source. We have a bit of business with thrice-father, what's your local time?"

"Way past what normal people consider bedtime," the collared girl on the screen said with a grin. She looked away for a minute, "I can slide you into his schedule at half-meal, if you want a meeting then. It would give you several hours to rest up. Want quarters?"

L'jissa turned, "Master, do you wish guest quarters, or do you want to sleep aboard?"

Eddie considered, then said, "Guest quarters, please, for the five of you as well. Don't forget our guests."

"Quarters for master and five crew," L'jissa replied, tapping her collar. "We have three WorkForce slaves we need to secure, they're part of business."

The other girl was looking away, tapping at her computer. She looked back, "I have you for Orange six through eleven, and I'll meet you when you dock, my shift is almost over. We'll take care of those poor slaves, and go have a drink." She manipulated the controls, "Transferring control to Docking. See you in a few!" she said before signing off.

"See, Master, I told you there wouldn't be any problem," L'jissa said from the helm.

------------------------  
**_Thursday, September 6, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Transfiguration classroom: 09:04 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to fourth-year transfiguration!" Professor Chang said. "Let me get the roll, we'll dive right into switching spells," and Mattie groaned softly.

------------------------  
**_Thursday, September 6, 2001:  
β Crucis 6a, Thrice-father's table: 11:02 (relative)   
_**------------------------

"L'jissa! You're back, thrice-daughter! Come, sit with me," he said, standing and offering his right hand, palm out at shoulder level. L'jissa met it with her left, then bowed, "Thrice-father, may I introduce Master Eddie, who saved me from Cropag."

"I am honored, sir," Eddie said, as he silently thanked L'jissa for the quick etiquette lesson. He met Thrice-father's right hand with his, gave a quick bow, then said, "Please, sir, I consider my girls free, L'jissa has been an enormous help to me."

As Eddie took the seat to Thrice-father's right that was indicated, L'jissa took an empty seat he indicated to his left. The patriarch stroked his beard, "I understand you have a bit of business we need to dispense with, business with Black Hole and WorkForce. How may I assist?"

Eddie cleared his throat, "In our somewhat hasty departure from Eridani three, the local WorkForce representative was killed by a pair from Black Hole, which I was then obliged to kill in self defense. The previous owner is dead, however we discovered gambling debts he incurred, and in order to provide a peaceful business climate, we wish to settle those debts, return property, and resolve any obligations regarding the dead employees."

"Hmf, you don't want them chasing after you. Wise move, son," Thrice-father said. "You can prove this?"

"Unsliced video, bodies, weapons and vehicles in the ship, sir," Eddie said. "If it is possible, I would like to purchase the three WorkForce slaves, and I would like to discuss two of my slaves with one of your slicers."

"Motsen?" One of the men leaned forward, Thrice-father indicated him. "Meet with him regarding these, I will be generous as you have returned my thrice-daughter L'jissa back to me safely. Now eat, Eddie, before the sojan soup gets cold."

------------------------

"Please, come aboard," Eddie offered to Motson, the fellow stepping aside as the hatch lowered.

He viewed the two ground cars, and the three corpses laying beside them through the still-chilled atmosphere. "You evacuated the hold, and chilled them down to preserve them, I assume," Motson said, and Eddie nodded, stepping back as the fellow did his work, scanning the corpses and extracting blood for testing. "You did not slice the data for your own use?" he asked, slightly surprised as he searched the bodies.

"I wished to preserve evidence," Eddie replied.

"Wise," Motson replied, standing. "With your consent, I will have these removed and transported back to Eridani," he said. "May I see the video?"

"Of course, this way, please," Eddie said, gesturing.

------------------------

"I foresee no problems, and no cause for your concern." Motson said, as he copied the video to his own chips. "Your co-operation is duly noted, with gratitude, as is your willingness to pay a debt that was not yours. The two were not using Black Hole's ground car, but their own. This leads me to believe they were attempting unauthorized extortion, and thus were outside the protection of Black Hole. I shall verify this, of course. The death of the WorkForce being is regrettable, but I do not see liability on your part, and a touch of panic is understandable for people that do not deal with us on a regular basis."

"Us?" Eddie asked delicately.

"Black Hole," Motson said calmly. "Thrice-father is the sector head, after all."

------------------------

"Here they are," Motson said as they entered the small lounge. L'jissa jumped up from where she was kneeling on the floor, throwing herself into Eddie's surprised arms, "Master!"

"Didn't I ask you not to call me that?" he asked, trying to disentangle the enthusiastic brunette. Her twice-sister stifled a laugh, wearing a black smock and white shorts and sandals. Z'hann and 383 smiled from where they knelt.

"Oh, but Master!" she said, "I'm your slave, your loving, dutiful slave, who has been waiting for her Master to arrive for ever so long." She grabbed his lower anatomy while trying to climb on him, "Please, Master, please take your slave, you promised you would, you owe me!" She tried to pull him down to kiss him, he stiffened his back as 383 tried to stifle her giggles, while Z'hann tried to stifle her laughing.

"I smell a trap," he announced to the room. "Perpetrated by these females." He pried L'jissa loose, marching her to kneel next to a chair. "Sit, stay," he told her. Unfortunately, while he did so, Motson appropriated the only other chair. Sighing, Eddie took the empty chair, L'jissa latching onto his leg. "Has she always been like this?" he asked.

"She's calmed down in the last few years," her twice-sister said with a grin. "Perhaps it's wearing a collar." L'jissa turned a sunny smile upon him, she offered her left hand, "J'anna, older sister to the troublemaker. I believe every family has one, L'jissa is ours."

"You're only two years older, Mistress," L'jissa objected as Eddie offered his right hand. She switched her focus to Motson, "What did you find out, Master?"

"As your Master heard," he said dryly, "I reported to thrice-father your evidence supported your report. We have placed on account your payment of forty kilos, our latest report on that account showed a deficit owed by Cropag of twenty one kilos, thirty five grams. Under the commercial code, you are not liable for this debt, Cropag's next of kin are, we would collect it from them."

"I was hoping to give his father Cropag's head," L'jissa pouted. "I thought it would look so nice on his fancy desk with a little note between his stained teeth."

"Allow thrice-father a few pleasures, girl," Motson said. He returned his gaze to Eddie, "I have sent a request by courier to Eridani for updated figures as well as my report that thrice-father endorsed. The other cargo will be shipped by freighter, as we are liable you will incur no expense there. I see no liability on your part, you may depart with your slaves, excluding the three WorkForce units, at your pleasure. This includes," he gazed at L'jissa, "the troublemaker clinging to your knee, she is your slave."

"Yes, she is," Eddie said. "Please forgive my next few questions, I mean no insult by them if I offend."

"No offense will be taken, if insult is unintentionally given, it will be explained," Motson said. "Please, ask your questions."

"Your females, like J'anna, are collared, but are not dressed or equipped as slaves, nor are they treated as such," he asked. "Furthermore, I would like more information on the relationship with WorkForce. I would prefer to free the slaves as I find the owning of other sentients repulsive, but I was forced into that position," and he glanced at L'jissa.

"Regarding my collar, it is not a slave collar, although it does appear similar," J'anna said. "When a person of age joins Black Hole, the females are collared, the males have their right hands replaced by prosthetics. Should you decide to free L'jissa, she is entitled to wear one of our collars, and would had she not decided to follow another path." She looked at Eddie, "Please do not proceed with this question, it deals with Black Hole matters."

"Of course, thank you for the explanation," he said, and J'anna nodded.

"Regarding the WorkForce slaves," Motson said, "You have several options, which would also apply to these two," and he indicated 383 and Z'hann. "First, you may simply purchase them from third-father, he is the registered agent. This is the least attractive option for you, not only would they be more expensive, but it does not offer you other options regarding these two."

"And their chips, their mind control devices?" Eddie asked.

"Perhaps our slicer would be best to explain that," J'anna said. "Let me call," and arose, moving to the comm station while Motson continued, "Secondly," he said, "you may endorse the license agreement we found in the ground-car. This would enroll you as the registered agent for your system, the three slaves would therefore be your property, to do with as you please. The license is pro-rated to the end of the fiscal year, annual renewal is a mere one hundred kilos. As you already possess a Mark 52 collaring device..."

"I do not wish to traffic in slaves!" Eddie said vehemently.

"I am not suggesting you do so, merely purchase the license, as you already have from the Slaver's Guild," Motson replied calmly. "There is one requirement that you might find distressful," he continued. "Each new agent is required to attend WorkForce's orientation. These are held quarterly, ε Orionis is truly a lovely planet, a tropical ocean world, the next session starts in a little over three weeks."

"That's short time, Master," L'jissa said. "At maximum cruising, we could get there with about three days to spare."

"What is involved in this orientation, Master?" 383 asked. "Would we be required to do anything?"

"A typical business orientation," Motson said. "At least three days are required, they sing the praises of the company, ignore the problems, showcase the new products of the research department..." He made a dismissive twist with his left hand, "Your enhanced slaves..."

"Enhanced, Master?" Z'hann asked.

"Like you two," he said, tapping his temple. "Your Master would be fed the praises of the company in order to motivate him to sell more units, while he is enduring that, there are companies that specialize in upgrades for enhanced units that will display there. You two would be expected to seek out those companies that relate to your specialties, accept data dumps and then beg your owner for the upgrade."

"Master Eddie," 383 said slowly, "that sounds very useful." She looked at him, "We could gain a great deal of freely available information in a very short time, Master, although it would not be a pleasant experience." She looked at Motson, "What about the slaves, Master? What are their conditions like?"

"You would be in standard cells, companies will offer low cost or free upgrades to unenhanced slaves like L'jissa during the show." He looked at Eddie, "If you can endure the full week, companies will purchase slaves from WorkForce, install their product, then dispose of them at the end of the show. They don't want to pay the freight costs back on a liner, whereas you already have a slave ship." He turned as the door opened, "There you are, T'all, I was beginning to wonder."

------------------------

"T'all?" L'jissa said, releasing Eddie's leg and standing, "When did _you_ become a female slave?" She slowly circled the tall redheaded slave whose thick hair cascaded to her sandals. Looking the full-bosomed girl up and down, admiring the tight belt on the tiny waist, "Female, I am jealous, you are worth a _ton_!"

"Twenty eight kilos at my last insurance assessment," she corrected with a smile. "I was injured on a mission, while I was under the Healer's care, I spoke with thrice-father, after bio-sculpt, here I am," she said, black and white lights on her silver slave collar, she wore a white smock with a black spiral on her left shoulder. She indicated the two security guards behind her, who shoved the twins forward, "These two slaves were caught in a restricted area, they said their Master was with Motson." Eddie groaned, his face in his hands.

------------------------

"They can't keep out of trouble," L'jissa told them. "Which area?"

"White 31," one of the guards said, the one twin shivering in fear. "They said their master ordered them to sneak about and see what they could see."

"They were ordered to stay in their quarters," Eddie said. "I thought I'd give them another chance to earn my trust, I should have confined them to a cell."

"They are habitual liars, Master," L'jissa said. "Sell them off, please, Master."

"Thrice-father has a client looking for a pair of slaves like them," Motson said. "We'll pay eleven kilos for the pair of them, he needs their reproductive organs, we'll perform a mind-suck to determine the truth, and you will be rid of them."

"I am greatly tempted to do so," Eddie said, both twins whimpering in fear, "However, I do not go back on my word, I promised to return them to my home world, which they disdain as 'false freedom'." He looked at T'all, "Can you extract their memories?"

"Easily, if they are enhanced," the tall redheaded slave girl replied.

"Master," 383 said, "That word was given to Mistress Wayne simply to return them, 'enhancement' does not apply, as you were both unaware of it. If you won't sell them, they are slaves, enhance them, and lock them down."

"What price for their ovaries, Master?" Z'hann asked. "It is a simple surgery to remove them. It will leave them sterile, and a stasis chamber will keep the organs fresh and usable for quite a long time." She added, "If you intend to let them live, Master, they will need hormonal implants for health, those are inexpensive. You can get many more years of slave labor out of them."

"Nine kilos for their ovaries," Motson said, the cuffed twins groveling and whimpering in fear. "The bodies are simply support, the ovaries are the valuable parts," he continued calmly. "If you will consent to sign the WorkForce license we discussed, the three other slaves will be yours at no cost, we can then apply the enhancement to these two, and the mental unlocking of the other five at a cost of 7,750 grams against the sale of their organs." He mused, "A small net profit for you."

"What of L'jissa?" Eddie asked. "I would free her, how does she remove her collar?" He ignored the twins' cries of "Master!"

"You tell her, 'I free you,' it is witnessed, and I can send the unlock code to her collar," T'all said.

"What of your collar, or the other girls?" Eddie asked.

"Consider her wearing my collar, she is free, beyond that it is a Black Hole matter," J'anna said with a smile.

Eddie nodded, and turned to address L'jissa, "I free you," he said clearly.

"Thank you, Master!" she squealed in delight, while T'all told the two cowering twins, "Watch her collar." She placed a hand on L'jissa's collar, slowly the green and yellow lights went out on it, leaving it dark. She waited a second more, adding, "I have sent the collar the withdrawal command, her implants will start to destabilize. Please take her to a med tank." As L'jissa ran out, she added to the twins, "Had you obeyed your master, I could have done that for you." She smiled cruelly, "Now, you will be enhanced like WorkForce slaves, like I have been, your collars cannot be removed, even if you somehow acquire freedom."

Eddie looked at the two groveling twins, "I told you that you had one more chance, yet you continued to lie and deceive me. You shirk your work, when you do it at all it is poor quality. Now, you leave me with the choice of selling you, or your genes. As I gave my word to return you, your ovaries will pay the penalty. I do not trust you, you force me to this stage of control, as you will not control yourselves." He looked at Motson, "Enhance them, extract what information you need and their ovaries. I will sign the WorkForce contract, I only ask you use anesthetic on their surgery."

"Surgery without anesthetic tightens the muscles and makes for poor results, Master," Z'hann said. "May I observe? I am most curious."

"Certainly, please go with them to the med lab, I shall be along shortly," Motson said. As T'all elegantly knelt, he continued to Eddie, "Thrice-father, as he is the court system, was pleased to rule in your favor regarding the freedom of these slaves. Please remember to sign the documents, that way L'jissa's manumission will be legal." He glanced at 383, "He also has one for you, and the other girls, including those two and the WorkForce girls. When your Master activates them is of course up to him."

"Of course, Master," she said, adding, "If I understand the situation, we shall be proceeding to WorkForce's main world, a slaver's convention if you will. As we have a slave ship, it makes more sense to me to have an all slave crew, excepting of course Master Eddie and Mistress L'jissa." She asked T'all, "Mistress, can you change the collar lights so we are all judicial slaves? Master bought us in a lot, you see, a pirate crew, which would also explain our being locked down."

"I can change them to any combination you wish," T'all said, her own lights changing to mixed green and yellow. "Once they are enhanced, I can proceed to unlock the other slaves." She glanced at Eddie, "I will need you for a few minutes for recordings, the owner accounts for the slaves are voice-commanded."

"Certainly, although I wonder why your collar and the others cannot be removed, along with your implants," he asked.

"Strictly speaking, they could be," T'all said. "However, the skill set and associated certifications that you purchase for a slave are associated with the implants and associated data files. They reside in the implants, if they are removed, the skills go with them. The collar serves as a secondary processing node and personal file storage. If you remove the collar and implants, you remove the skills of the slave."

Eddie nodded, she continued, "With your consent, I will modify each slave's collar to display the lights of judicial enslavement, disabling the kill circuits and most of the pain circuits in the collars."

"If some master presses a 'pain' button, we need to feel it," 383 said with a grin. "Can you teach me this, Mistress?"

"With your Master's consent, of course," T'all replied. "There is no difference in the physical manifestation of the higher pain levels beyond level three, the writhing and screaming is identical. I will voice-enable the tracking circuits, and will require some surgery to change the permissions chip for each slave."

"Permissions chip, Mistress?"

"The reason you are forced to use the terms 'Master' and 'Mistress' is the permissions chip, on the control board," T'all told the girl, touching the back of her skull. "I have essentially the same hardware you do, other than a few secondary implants in my hands. However, each slave is implanted with three accounts, the base account, which has taken over and controls such things as respiration and your circulatory system, the owner's account, which is mapped to the voice print of your owner, and the slave account, which is what you are using by default. What I use, and what I shall install for each slave, is a substitute chip that has a fourth account, that of your slave number." She looked at Eddie, "You will need to record certain commands, for instance, 'Enable account' and her slave number, or 'Disable account'. You may thus activate the slaves at whatever level of functionality you wish."

"If I sell, or free the slave, what then?" he asked slowly.

"You would use the command 'Change owner' and her number, then the new owner, or the girl, would state 'New owner' and her number. The various commands would need to be repeated by the new owner." She looked over at Eddie, "I would strongly advise against changing the base account, it would be far too easy to make a mistake that would stop her heart or other vital systems."

------------------------

"Be quiet, slave," the healer said. "When you wake up, you'll be far more useful to your master," he told the crying twin as she was strapped into place. A mask was fitted over her face, as she subsided, he touched a wand to her forehead, slowly peeling back the skin.

------------------------  
**_Thursday, September 6, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin table: 12:09 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"You're supposed to _eat_ the chicken, not simply tear it from its bones," Sprink advised Mattie, who threw down a breastbone.

"Damnit, I wonder how she's doing," she muttered. "There's no way to check, he's not supposed to report in until Christmas..." she covered her face with her hands, Sprink forcing them down and dabbing at the grease stains with her napkin.

"He is cunning, you shall see," Anne said, putting down her quill. "In any case, we know not where in the galaxy they are, and you know we shall lose people."

"I know," she sighed, "I wish there was some way to communicate, though..."

"'Tis the Queen's job to concern herself with the realm," Anne said. "Her generals are concerned with fighting the wars, and while 'tis good for the Queen to concern herself with the bowman," she jabbed a finger, "'tis not her job. Her job is to make cert the generals have a goodly supply of shafts for her archers, and the generals' job 'tis to fight the war and train the archers. Indeed, my study of history gives me the job to build a better ballistae, and thy job is to make cert I hath what I need. Indeed, thou art needed here, not traipsing about among'st the stars, and cert not on the front lines with the swordsmen." She picked up a chicken leg, "Now eat, my liege lady, and let me build thy ballistae."

------------------------  
**_Friday, September 7, 2001:  
Hogwarts, DADA classroom: 09:05 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"And Mr. Morton," Harry said, looking around to find Bill. "I understand you had an interesting summer. I'm looking forward to seeing what your brother and sister taught you," and he grinned. "Let's see, Mr. Nash, where are you... ah, there! Miss Petty..."

------------------------

"What is DADA?" Professor Harry said, drawing the letters in fire in midair. "Well, the letters stand for 'Defense Against the Dark Arts', but it's essentially learning the magical threats, and how to deal with them. That's not only hostile witches and wizards, but also dark creatures."

"Like werewolves?" someone asked timidly.

"No, werewolves are ordinary people, muggle and wizarding, who are suffering from a ancient and rather nasty curse," Professor Harry said. "There has been substantial progress made recently in breaking the curse, but they're just ordinary people. We have them in every house, they aren't dark. A dark creature is one that does evil for the sake of doing it, not to survive or reproduce. A Red Cap is a good example, it will spill human blood just to dye its cap. Not to eat, not to use in reproduction, just to colour its cap."

"What about non-magical threats?"

"That depends on the definition of 'threat', Miss Petty," he replied. "You are allowed to use magic while underage if your life, or the life of another person is at risk. It is NOT to deal with your inconsiderate neighbour who is playing loud music at three in the morning, no matter how tempting it would be to turn him into a frog." There was a slight titter of laughter. "To assist you, we have the DA club, which meets on Tuesday evenings at seven, we have the Leftenent from the Royal Marines who is teaching martial arts, and Miss Wayne has been teaching street fighting in the Hufflepuff gymnasium Sunday afternoons."

"Is that the same Wayne that's ..."

"That has the school record for the fastest catch of a snitch?" Harry grinned, "Among other things. She has multiple black belts and she's well qualified, if somewhat overly enthusiastic on occasion."

------------------------  
**_Friday, September 7, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Quidditch pitch: 13:05 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to your first flying lesson," Professor Harry said as the class stood about in a nervous clump. "I want everyone to stand next to one of the school brooms, and hold your left hand over it." When nobody moved, he added, "Go on, they won't bite."

Bill swallowed nervously, and went to stand next to one of the old brooms. Even he could tell that they had seen years of hard use. Once the class had reformed into the circle, the professor continued, "Now, this is just like riding a bicycle. Hold your left hand over the broom, and tell it 'Up!' in a commanding voice."

"Up," Bill told his broom, which hesitantly floated into the air. At the professor's instruction, he threw his left leg over it, his muscles twitched and he found himself floating at shoulder height. Instinctively, he leaned forward to clutch at the wood, and found himself taking off. "Mr. Morton!" the professor called after him, but he was too terrified (and exhilarated) to hear as he headed toward a large tree whose branches swayed.

Finally remembering what Mattie had told him two summers ago, he pulled back, barely missing the reaching branches as he went into a power climb. As the ground receded below him, he found himself whispering, "Oh, crap! Oh, crap! How do I get down?"

"Mr. Morton," Professor Harry said from next to him on his broom, "Take hold of the broom, and lean forward gently. We want level flight." He watched, adding, "That's right. Point the broom down at a gentle angle, we don't want to enter the airport's radar coverage." He waited, "Very good. Tilt gently to your right, we wish to spiral down to the pitch. Another hundred feet, Mr. Morton. Now, to stop, sit up straight and pull up gently on the broom. Put your feet down, and tell the broom, 'Down'."

As the broom dropped to the ground, Bill staggered a bit, and was caught by the hovering professor. "Mr. Morton, not bad, not bad at all, especially on an old Shooting Star. Are you planning to go out for Quidditch?"

------------------------  
**_Friday, September 7, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff table: 17:28 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Morton," Eleanor Branstone said as she leaned between the two brothers. "The younger one, Bill, isn't it?" He nodded as she continued, "Professor Harry thinks you might be good at Quidditch, and we need a new Seeker. You're coming to the tryouts tomorrow afternoon, aren't you?"

Bill swallowed, then said, "I don't know, I'm only a firstie..."

Eleanor snorted, "So was Professor Harry when he was on the Gryff team. At least try out, all right?"

Bill nodded, and his brother slapped his shoulder, "That would be interesting, you going up against Mattie. Not a word to her, Julie, or anyone in Slytherin, now."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, September 8, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Gryffindor table: 07:23 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"G'morning everyone," Mattie yawned as she took her place with the study group. Pouring a cup of coffee, she pushed a wrapped package across the table, "Arthur, this is from Shiva, a Christmas present." She gazed at him over her coffee cup, "How do you come to be such good friends with a professional assassin that she's buying you Christmas presents?" She took a sip, "Especially one that I tried to kill in order to save your life."

Arthur eyed it, "What is it?"

"I scanned it, and the one she got me. It's a cylinder, about six inches long and about an inch across. There's a chip in the box too, I assume that's the instructions. I'll get you a reader when I go to London. Answer the question."

"You got one too. Does that logically make Shiva your friend?"

"That's not the point, it's a different relationship."

"Oh yes it is the point."

"I _will_ have an answer, Morton," Mattie replied.

"Then try asking instead of demanding, _Wayne_. You might get better results. Remember, I'm not one of your employees, or one of your Solar Guard subordinates. I don't have to explain myself to you." Despite the anger clearly building on Mattie's face, he continued, "But even if I wanted to tell you the whole story, hint hint, do you think I'm stupid enough to do it here?"

Arthur waited for an answer, didn't get one and left as the mail arrived in a cloud of owls and bats.

------------------------

As he entered the Hufflepuff gymnasium with Charlie, Arthur could hear the 'thwappeta, thwappeta' sounds of someone hitting the speed bag, and the thumps of someone else assaulting the heavy bag. "Think that's enough? It's split," he heard a girl ask, another replying "Not yet."

"A bit of one-on-one, mate?" Charlie said, scooping up the basketball and dribbling it. He heard the clank of the weight pile, and replied, "Sure, I need some stress relief."

------------------------

"Pomfrey is gonna _kill_ me," Mattie said to Sprink as they were leaving the showers, "I needed that, though..." She stopped, looking her erstwhile boyfriend up and down, "Mr. Morton," she said cooly, adding in a warmer voice, "Charlie." She glanced back and forth between her best friend and Charlie, "Not subtle at all, Sprink. I expected better of you."

"Spur o' the moment," she replied. "You both exercise when stressed, an' you're BOTH stressed."

Charlie added, "We can't solve whatever problem you've got with the Guard, but we can at least listen to both of you." He turned to face Mattie directly, "You and I will take a nice, peaceful walk about the lake, while Sprink goes off with Arthur. We'll be out until you talk it out, or hell freezes over, whichever comes first."

------------------------

Arthur led Sprink through a door across from the weight room that she'd never seen before. "Notice-me-not spell?" she asked.

"Yep," Arthur said. "It's a keyed ward that Professor Flitwick helped me set up. I found this place back when we started refurbishing the gym three years ago. When Dumbledore rearranged a few walls so the girls could get to the weight room, access got cut off. But with my X-Ray eyes, I figured out how to get back in about a year and a half ago. It's sorta my own private lab. It's even got a bathroom." He offered her the only chair, one sitting behind a battered classroom desk with an engraved 'AR + MC' inside a heart, the year 1603 underneath.

She accepted it as he leaned against the wall, "So this is where you disappear to, I just hide out on the 'forbidden' third floor when I want to be alone."

Arthur cast a privacy spell, saying, "You're just about the only person I'm free to discuss this with besides Mattie and she won't talk to me."

"She's pissed at you all right, but she's pissed at herself too. We'd all like to know why."

Arthur sighed, "When we left the train station after the ride down, we were all kidnapped by a mercenary assassin called Lady Shiva. She claimed to be under contract to President Luthor."

"Claimed?"

"For what it's worth, I believe her, but I don't have any evidence. So," he finger quoted. "Claimed."

"All right, then what?"

"She said Luthor wanted Mattie's starship and all the technology in it."

"He wanted to ransom you for it?"

"Yeah. But because Mattie was still recovering from the big spell she cast, she wasn't with us. So she got to lead the rescue. In full force with her mother, brother, Professor Potter and her god-father, Superman."

"Comes in pretty handy that does, eh?"

"It's overkill," Arthur replied. "But Shiva made a deal to fight Mattie sometime during the summer. Shiva promised she wouldn't kill Mattie, which left a helluva gray area, but pretty much told Mattie to kill her if she could."

"Mattie won't kill," Sprink said flatly.

"And I think that's part of the problem, but let me tell the rest of it."

"Sorry, go ahead," Sprink apologized, settling back.

"Fast forward a month and Shiva sends a bunch of ninja to attack Mattie while she's in prison."

"She told me 'bout that one."

"So you know she got thumped pretty good, but gave a lot more than she took without killing anybody."

"Yeah."

"Another month, and Shiva attempts to sneak into my house and crawls right into a magical trap."

"What did ya nail her with?" Sprink asked, smiling evilly.

"Nasty little magical vise my folks bought from a catalog. Took me, Julie and Bill a week to install it. But that doesn't matter. What does is I've got Shiva dead to rights and both of us know it."

"So... What did you do with her?"

"Took her oath that she wouldn't harm my family and released her so we could discuss things rationally."

"You're bloody barking! How could y-"

"What was I supposed to do?" he interrupted, "Kill her? Mattie wouldn't have. I don't completely agree with Mattie's 'no killing' stance, but I'm not a cold blooded killer. At least I hope not."

"You could have called the bobbies, or Mattie, or someone."

"Let me add that Shiva didn't come alone. I spotted six of her men outside my house and didn't spot I don't know how many more. The local cops would never have been able to hold her. Who knows how many dead bodies she'd have left behind during her escape?" He shrugged, "As for calling Mattie, there was no need. According to Shiva, my house had been thoroughly bugged by the Waynes and by the government with alarms already going off."

"You believed her?"

"I already knew someone was bugging our phones and there was corroborating evidence supplied by Superman later, which I hadn't quite got to yet."

"Sorry."

"No prob. Where was I? Oh yeah, I'm talking to Shiva, she says she wants a favor. She says, quote, 'I feel her greatest potential would be unlocked if she had something, or someone, to fight for,' unquote. She clearly wants me to be bait when she fights Mattie."

"If you agreed to that, it's no wonder Mattie's pissed at you."

"That's one of the funny things about all this. I never did. Shiva gave my dad her word, her personal word, that she, or her people, weren't going to harm me or my brothers and sisters. Another large loophole if you ask me, because it leaves the rest of my family wide open. Then Superman is knocking on my front door asking to be let in."

"Oh... Very much not a co-inky-dink," Sprink admitted.

"There are no coincidences involving the Clan, at least not that they'll admit to. Superman says that if Shiva wants to test Mattie, it's all right with him because he's going to be keeping an eye out. He then hands my dad two bugs, one federal, one made by Waynetech. They're both in that drawer over there."

"Are they..."

"I smacked 'em with a hammer. But just because it was a Waynetech bug isn't proof that the Clan put it there. If Shiva had bugged the house before we got the wards up, it wouldn't surprise me if she used Waynetech gear. It's good stuff."

"Superman showing up when he did points toward it being Mattie's family."

"Well, I didn't ask who told him to come, although maybe I should have. The key phrase is 'plausible deniability', and Superman is about as deniable as you can get. However, if it was the Clan, that's pretty damning evidence that they don't trust me or my family."

"I dunno," Sprink said slowly. "Could it be that they're trying to keep an eye out for you?"

Arthur looked shocked for a moment before answering, "I don't know, it could be. But it's still illegal and it really grates on my nerves. Even worse is not knowing if Mattie had any part in it. Of the whole Clan, she's had by far the best opportunity to bug my house."

"She wouldn't... Well, yes she would. But only if she thought she had to."

"It's part of the price both of us pay for being Mattie's friends. I can accept that even if I don't like it. But we're getting off topic. I'm trying to explain why I think Mattie is pissed at me. The mere fact that I talked to Shiva is probably part of it, even though it was the safest course of action for everyone, including her. But there's more," Arthur continued. "A week later, the three of us fly over to London and we're staying at Ms. Hawking's place. She's out with Bill buying shoes and Mattie is showing me and Julie around Hyde Park. Shiva pops up out of nowhere, has one of her men grab me and challenges Mattie, telling her that to save me, she has to kill her."

"Oh... Oh my... For you... Oh, no wonder she's mad."

"Shiva had already given her word that Mattie's life was not at risk. She'd given her word that my life wasn't at risk, although Mattie apparently didn't know that or maybe didn't believe it."

"You know, trusting an assassin's word doesn't sound real smart."

"I trust this particular assassin to keep her word. But I've also seen Mattie fight and thought I knew what she was capable of. I was wrong, because she tried damn hard to kill Shiva. I knew that even before the guy holding me 'hostage' told me the same thing. Mattie's pissed at me, and I think at herself, because she broke her oath, or tried to, for me. She gave up her most sacred belief, what she thinks is the core of her character, for me, when she didn't have to."

"She thought you were in deadly danger you bloody twit!" More calmly, Sprink asked, "How did it end?"

"Mattie twigs to the fact that Shiva wasn't serious. Maybe she noticed Julie hadn't been captured, maybe it was something else. I don't know and it's probably not important. But as far as I can tell, Mattie thinks I set her up. She's getting ready to do something about it when Superman descends from the heavens and drags me, Mattie and Shiva off to the Fortress of Solitude, leaving Julie behind to fend for herself."

"What was it like, the Fortress?"

"The parts I saw were very intimidating, but who cares? Mattie thinks I stabbed her in the back, pretty much her exact words at the time, I think I arranged things in a way so nobody got killed or was even at serious risk. Yes, I didn't warn Mattie in advance that I wasn't going to be in danger when the attack eventually came." He sighed, "Maybe I should have, but apparently neither did Superman or whomever it was that bugged my house, which I'm assuming was her mother."

"You're the one who is here, not them. You have to deal with her."

"Yeah," Arthur rubbed his forehead, as he had done off and on throughout the conversation. "Maybe I'm overthinking it, maybe it's something else. Maybe it's because I caught Shiva and could have easily killed her and she tried to kill her and failed."

Sprink didn't think so and wondered how Charlie and Mattie were doing.

------------------------

They were halfway around the lake before Mattie broke the silence, "I really can't talk about much." Charlie's only reply was a raised eyebrow and silence, she continued, "I mean, part of it deals with Intelligence matters, and you don't have 'need to know', and the other is how I... I... was betrayed by someone I thought I loved."

"You can talk about some things, though," Charlie said. "In general, without specifics, like you've talked to Professor Snape."

"Well, yes," she admitted reluctantly. They walked a bit more in silence, she was clearly formulating her thoughts, "There are some things that would be good to get off my chest, y'know." She walked a bit more, "We left Earth before the invasion," she waved skyward, "With the objective of securing some technology that we would need to free people and remove those triple-damned slave collars, send off some agents and buy... stuff." Snorting, she added, "Things of course turned out to be a lot more complicated than that."

"They usually are," he said. "No matter how well you plan," he added.

"Isn't that the truth," she admitted. "We are starting with a blank sheet of paper, here. That has advantages and disadvantages, we need to build the 'Institutional Knowledge' (she finger-quoted), but the only real knowledge we have of alien cultures is what we have from the slaves, who are not really the best informed, and from direct observation by a few people like me, from a very few planets." In addition, a lot of my information is considerably out of date, dealing from well, you remember Cassidy?"

"Taller, older blonde?"

"Yep, and s_he's_ another can of worms entirely. You know she's a time traveler?" Charlie nodded, "I met her in the 14th century, and she needed to return to the 24th. Now, not only had she remembered me in her history, she..." she paused to chew her lip in thought.

"She..."

"Time travel gives me a massive headache," she complained. "Even for something as simple as eating a meal. You have to protect the timeline, and the simplest things you need to think through. You can't reveal stuff ahead of time, for instance, when I sat down for the first meal in the 14th century, I was almost ready to _obliviate_ the entire table over coffee." Charlie raised his eyebrows, "Tea and coffee weren't nearly as common then as they are now, until someone mentioned they had been brought back by the first Crusaders. They were very 'high society', reserved for royalty, but they _did_ exist then." She sighed, "You have to guard every word you say. Added to that, they were very sharp, very intelligent people, who desperately wanted to know the future, and I have no idea what I revealed to them, despite my best efforts." She glanced at him, "You might be the direct result of something I did back then."

"Cassidy, though..."

"She was in the same pickle as I, only I think for her it was worse," Mattie said. She stopped to choose a rock, flinging it into the lake, where it skipped once. She crouched down, choosing another rock and holding it up for his inspection, "Principals of aerodynamics, which of course didn't exist back in the 14th century." Standing, she threw it, adding as it skipped twice, "To them, it was a flat rock." Pointing skyward, she said, "We're throwing flat rocks right now, in an Olympic competition, with unfriendly judges and one possible friend."

"And we have to medal in this competition," Charlie said.

"I would dearly love to medal, but I'll settle for survival at this point," she said dryly. "Cassidy, on the other hand, proves we did at least survive this period, if only by her existence. Inadvertently, she revealed part of the future to at least two people, simply by thinking about it." Charlie threw his rock as she continued, "One thing I would love to shut off is picking up other people's thoughts. It's like walking through a room, a dinner party. Some conversations are louder than others, some you can't help but hear, no matter how much you try not to. Cassidy," she said carefully, "Has a loud voice, unlike you."

"Oh," he said. "When was this?"

"Malfoy's trial, Professor Dumbledore confirmed picking it up, but she was sitting next to me, and thinking about me." She picked up two rocks, rolling them in her hand, "He's offered to '_obliviate_' that memory, but I think the damage is done, even though I'm trying not to act on that foreknowledge, and other things she's shouted. One problem with erasing that memory is that it leaves a gap, like a rented movie on a defective chip. But if I don't act on something when I should, I might try to recover that memory."

"Oh, lord, just that gives me a headache," he said, rubbing his temples. She snorted, rooted in her bag, then gave him a small vial. "Professor Snape's migraine potion. It's not supposed to be addictive, but I'm starting to wonder."

"Thank you," he said, downing the potion and pocketing the vial. He tossed a rock, the monster flipping a tentacle above the surface. Changing the subject, he said, "How does that relate to the slaves that you're so on about?"

"Aside from the moral problem of owning another sentient being?" she asked. "Aside from the fact that I've been branded and collared as a slave myself, when I first met Cassidy, she was a naked slave chained in the market, and being tortured in front of my eyes. All perfectly legal, she was after all just another animal being disciplined, except she understood English, knew where Earth was, and..." she chewed her lip, then finally added, "Her middle name was 'Wayne'."

"Oh," he said. "Oh, my. But... she's a blonde."

"Yes," she drawled. "Arthur's hair color is..."

"A dirty blonde," he said, "Any blonds in your family tree?" She shook her head once, and he whispered, "Cassidy was your... daughter?"

"Not far enough out," she replied. "Alfred, that great hunk of tin, says that her DNA indicates she's my great-granddaughter."

"Oh, my," he said, sinking down to sit on the grass. "Not only did you rescue your great-granddaughter from slavery, bring her and Anne forward in time, but you know, _KNOW_, with DNA evidence, you will marry Arthur and have at least one child." He held up a hand, "Potion, please."

She snorted, restraining a laugh, and slapped one in his hand. "That doesn't necessarily mean that I marry him," she said. "While I would prefer marriage, there is the possibility that I marry one of his brothers or otherwise acquire that DNA. A blood sample, for instance."

"Using blood instead of..." he gestured, and she nodded. "Not the most efficient or ... traditional method, but it could be made to work, and in order to preserve the timeline, I'd do it."

"Yes, I believe you would," he said slowly, as he looked at her. "Never mention this to Arthur. He'd..."

"Freak? Flip out? Oh, yeah, and believe me, this is an absolute last option," she said. "It would be rape, no matter how necessary, but if he gets a flea up his arse, which he's been known to do, it's the lesser of two evils. Arthur, or billions, no, trillions of deaths." She turned to look at him, "Options, Charlie. I'm always open to options, but I don't know..."

"Trillions of deaths?" he asked gently.

"I know, KNOW, Charlie, that my DNA and Arthur's mix. Now, let's say that I marry _you_ instead, and we have at least one child." She threw her hands up, "Poof! I've just killed the Cassidy from my timeline, and whatever other relatives they might have had." She waved her left hand, "These people, gone, they never existed. History re-writes itself with _these_ people." She waved her right hand, "These are the genetic descendants of you and I. Cassidy might still exist, but she wouldn't be Cassidy A, she'd be Cassidy B." She leaned forward, "All because Arthur got a flea up his butt over something."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he breathed. He looked out at the lake, turning the potion over in his hand, then changed the subject, "Neither you or Cassidy were wearing slave collars."

"Mine unlocked when I defeated the mage that placed it, I threw it into the fire, but I've kept his brand as a reminder," she said, turning to show her left thigh. About two inches across, an extremely precise triangle inside a circle with crossed wands over showed scar-white against her tanned thigh. She turned to sit, green eyes intense, "Every time I change, or shower, I see that and remember. It's a wizarding brand, it's cursed so magic burns when it touches it. That's why I wear muggle hose under my school skirt, but it still hurts when the skirt brushes against it when I walk. I thought about buying muggle skirts, but I'd rather have the reminder." She looked at the lake, "I'm not really looking forward to wearing that dress for the Halloween ball, but I have to, and no, I can't and won't remove the curse that's on that brand."

"I was going to suggest a bandage of some sort, but it wouldn't be effective against a curse like that," Charlie said. "Why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"It's a brand, Charlie, a wizarding slave brand. Use the right term, please. Starting to get an idea why I don't like slavery?" He was silent, she continued, "It's the worst during the full moon, it burns when I touch it, the girls in the dorm know about it, and Pomfrey does. I can't even touch it to wash on those days, I have to squirt soap on it and rinse. Please don't say anything to anyone." She looked at the lake, "It's a reminder of what those slaves go through every day of their lives, with no end in sight, no chance for freedom, and when they're too old or sick or not pretty enough for their masters, they're disposed of. If they're lucky they get a quick death."

She was silent for a while, then said, "You asked about Cassidy's collar. It's not a simple lock collar, like you might buy in a kinky sex shop, or one that's welded on like the Romans used. No, hers was implanted into her spine, it took a long time and quite a bit of money for her to be legally freed, and more money for the removal of her collar. It's more economical to simply kill the slave girl and buy a new one."

"How... how much does..." Charlie asked, rocking the potion tube back and forth.

"A slave cost?" She turned to look at him, "About as much as an inexpensive car. Of course, if you want one with specialized training, like a physician or engineer, they're more expensive, about like a mid-price Mercedes. In comparison, I spent about as much as a high-end Porsche to free Cassidy, a cheap slave, and get her collar off. Not the best business decision I've made."

"Mattie, if you think that's a business decision, you're looking at it wrong."

She was silent for a minute, "You're right, that was a poor choice of words. That's how slavers look at their livestock, though. However, in the intervening six hundred years, those collars have gotten much more sophisticated. Now, a judicial collar that criminals are given doesn't just implant, it sends tendrils all through your nervous system, so you don't just feel a disciplinary shock on your collar. No, your entire nervous system lights up, you can't move, you can't even _breathe_." She turned to look at the lake again, "Hard to hold a slave revolt when you can't even breathe. Great security for the masters, one push of a button and every slave drops to the deck, twitching and screaming in agony."

------------------------

He was silent as they looked out over the lake. "The collar design isn't what's bothering you in particular," he said finally.

"No, but slaves are," she said with a snort, "At least one of them." She looked at the lake, finally adding, "There's a saying that 'Law ends with atmosphere' or 'Law ends with enforcement', take your pick depending on the system. Right now, we're extending Earth international law to the borders of the solar system, beyond that, there's the Interstellar Commercial Code, which is something of a 'gentlebeing's agreement'. There is no real enforcement of that, the Guardians could do so but choose not to. As such, there's quite a bit of piracy and smuggling going on, but because of the damned French, we had to do an end-run around them to try and defend this system."

"How did you work that out?" Charlie asked. "You have to have a legal basis."

"I'm surprised it hasn't leaked from Parliament," she replied with a grin. "The secret wouldn't have lasted a minute in Congress. As a British corporation, with an international board of directors, the Guard was granted a Letter of Marque by the Queen, with Parliamentary consent, which extends to the Heliopause, and to within 200 kilometers of the Earth's surface. And since I'm the head of the Guard..."

"You're a pirate," Charlie said with a grin.

"Privateer," she corrected with a grin. "Yo ho ho, I've got a sword, now all I need is an eyepatch and a parrot."

"You should issue swords," he said with a grin, "along with a fair maiden that can swoon over the rugged Captain." She snorted down a laugh, and he said, "About the law..."

"The law," she said, "Some people can be idiots, y'know?" He nodded as she continued, "We were outside the system, heading toward... wherever, and we find a stowaway." She gazed at the lake, "We don't have time to turn around, I can't drop her anywhere, so I have three options under the Code. One, I can execute her, a nice clean death in the drive field as her atoms are torn apart." She continued, "Second option is a collar, a... judicial collar. One of those really hideous ones I mentioned. She'd be buried in it, they're almost impossible to remove." Third option is 'Captain's choice', and that's what I picked. I could have just locked her in a cabin until we got back, but we were short-handed, and so I gave her a taste of what she wanted. I made her ship's girl, she was low person on the ship."

"Why did she sneak aboard?" Charlie asked gently.

"She wanted a collar, Charlie, and God help my soul, I may have given it to her, I may have enslaved her, Charlie, I don't _know_," she said with a hitch in her voice. She turned to look at him, "I'm a slaver, Charlie, God help me," and he folded her into his arms as she sobbed.

------------------------


	3. Week Three, 9 – 15 September, 2001

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
3 – Week Three, 9 – 15 September, 2001, Fourth Year  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, September 9, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table: 07:52 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

_To: Morton family  
From: William Morton  
Date: 9 September, 2001  
Subject: School news_

_Good morning, everyone! _

_Well, a bit of news, as you know I was Sorted into Hufflepuff along with Arthur (who isn't being too much of a big brother!). Saturday afternoon, we had Quidditch tryouts, and I went along for a lark. (I'm already starting to sound like a Brit, according to Arthur.) I made the team! Yay! Happy Dance! I'm Hufflepuff's new Seeker! _

_Don't tell Julie, though. Someone said, "There's family, and then there's Quidditch." I saw her at the pitch when the Gryffs were leaving, the way it works is that each house, in alphabetical order, uses the pitch for their tryouts. Gryffindor Saturday morning, we're Saturday afternoon, then on Sunday the Ravenclaws and Slythies. Next week they'll be fitting Quidditch robes, I'll need to get some, they run about 50 – 60 pounds, plus the other gear. Budget £100 and I should be good. _

_Let's see... what else? In April they're having the International Academic Quidditch tourney, we'll be playing against teams from other wizarding schools. _

_I guess I should say something about classes. I lost three points from Professor Snape in Potions but more than made them up from Professor Flitwick in Charms and Professor Potter in DADA. Thank you, thank you that I practiced over the summer! Astronomy is cool, even though it ends at midnight on Monday. Professor Sinestra has this really cool gizmo that lets us look at other stars and systems – you can see spaceships zooming around! Later in the year, we're going to try celestial navigation – I hope my math is up to it!_

_Let's see. History is taught by Professor Lupin, who always looks tired. I guess it comes from being a werewolf, we had one in Hufflepuff (Jeremy), who according to Arthur also looked tired. I guess it takes a lot out of you. Anyway, Jeremy is playing professional Quidditch now for Ballycastle – there's discrimination against werewolves, they have trouble finding jobs. _

_That's apparently also true about giants. Professor Hagrid (who prefers just 'Hagrid' – he's the enormous fellow you met two years ago, and at Mr. Wayne's funeral) is a really nice fellow even if he's eight feet tall and covered with hair. He teaches Care of Magical Creatures, which Julie will have next year. _

_A bit of gossip: Arthur and Mattie are arguing about something, nobody's sure what. Apparently this happened after we arrived in London, but before school started. Arthur and Mattie aren't talking about it, and Julie knows but is keeping quiet too. Apparently that day I was with Ms. Hawking buying shoes, I got some black gook on my sneakers and we were replacing them. _

_I'd better sign off, I've still got an essay to finish and email to Professor Sprout for tomorrow morning's class. Love to everyone!  
Bill _

Bill clicked 'Send', minimized his email, then looked over at his study mates, "Okay, where are we with the Herbology essay?"

"Trade you for Potions," Anna Driver said, looking up from her laptop.

------------------------  
**_Sunday, September 9, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table: 08:02 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Anne, what happened on that flight?" Charlie asked gently as he cast a privacy spell around the two of them and Sprink.

The blonde looked up, then carefully laid down her quill, and with quick, economical keystrokes, saved her file. Pushing her laptop aside, she said carefully, measuring each word, "Something which doth trouble me greatly, but 'tis not my responsibility. 'Tis the Captain's, and it doth tear at her soul, but there be no resolution, no way to know until they make contact. That 'tis not scheduled until Christmastime." She looked at the two of them, her blue eyes troubled, "If thou can'st assist, I would'st be grateful."

"We'll do what we can," Sprink promised, as Charlie banished the spell.

------------------------

"I had a _very_ interesting conversation with Arthur," Sprink said, as they walked down to the lake. "Unfortunately, I can't tell you all of it. How 'bout you?"

"Probably a similarly interesting conversation, and I don't know how I'd manage with the stress she's under," he admitted. "She's literally carrying the world on her shoulders. Want just the smallest of her problems? This is the one Anne was referring to."

"Oh, boy," Sprink said, sitting under an oak tree. "Okay, I'm sitting down."

She watched as Charlie paced back and forth, he finally said, "She told me about her cursed brand, the one on her thigh. Even showed it to me."

"We found the curse, it's a nasty, dark one," she said, "Don't ask where, but she won't let us apply the counter-curse."

"Then you know what she thinks of slavery," he said as he paced. "Loathes it with every fiber of her being, despite it being a mainstay of the galactic economy," and he waved at the sky.

"Anne has a similar view," Sprink said. "I wonder what it's like out there."

"Remember your history?" Charlie replied. "The feudal period, when we had different nobles, and the law was different on either bank of a river?" She nodded, "That's what it's like, only with the bloody French throwing in their veto in New York, we don't have any law that applies either. Parliament had to pass a private bill to allow an exception, which the Queen granted. Legally, Mattie's a privateer, under a Letter of Marque, but only in this solar system."

"This is the _smallest_ of her problems?"

"Oh, I haven't even gotten to the problem yet," Charlie said. "This is just background. There's a thing called the Interstellar Commercial Code, but there's no one enforcing it, it's a 'gentleman's agreement' kind of thing. So merchant ships are armed, because there's pirates out there too."

"Pirates have to sell their booty somewhere," Sprink said, then slowly added, "And trained spacers would count under booty too, they'd be sold to slavers..."

"Slavers control their property with collars," he said grimly. "I would assume both Anne and Mattie have seen slaves, and slave markets on other worlds. We saw them when they landed in New York, I originally thought they were pretty, some sort of necklace." He snorted, "Now I know better." He threw himself down, taking Sprink's hand, "Someone stowed away on that last flight, I don't know the details, obviously, but circumstances arose that may have forced Mattie, as a ship's Captain, to enslave her, but she just doesn't know." He looked into Sprink's eyes, "She doesn't know, and won't until Christmas, if then." He gripped her hand, "Your turn. What's the problem with Arthur?"

"This has parts I can't talk about," Sprink said, and Charlie nodded. "After we left them at Kings Cross, the Yanks were supposed to board a flight home, except they got kidnapped by a mercenary, this Shiva person, who was under contract to their President Luthor. The idea was that he would hold them hostage against Mattie surrendering her starship."

"Except Mattie was in the infirmary..."

Sprink nodded, then said, "Fast forward, this Shiva chick, who's apparently the top martial artist on the planet, breaks into Arthur's house. She wants to hold Arthur hostage, so that when she fights Mattie, she's 'properly motivated'," she finger quoted.

"The fight in Hyde Park," Charlie breathed, and Sprink nodded. Choosing her words carefully, she said, "Arthur had bad cards, he might have played things differently, but he was trying to make sure everyone survived."

"And Mattie, not knowing any of this, interprets his cooperation as a betrayal," he said. "They're both wrong, Arthur should have confided in Mattie, she shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion."

"And they're both stubborn enough to hold a grudge until it dies of old age," Sprink agreed. "Your turn again."

------------------------

"This kind of ties into what you just told me," Charlie said, "You remember Cassidy? The tall blonde that was visiting at the end of last year?" His girlfriend nodded as he continued, "She was a time traveler, like Anne is, only from the future. This is where you develop a truly massive headache."

"Develop?" she squeaked, "There's more to come?"

"Oh, yes, and it's a doozy," he said. "Now, Cassidy not only is, or was, or will be, or whatever tense covers this situation, a former slave that Mattie picked up in the 14th century, she's also from our future."

"She mentioned that," Sprink said. "The 24th century."

Charlie thought for a minute, "With longer wizarding lifetimes, that makes sense. Now, let's put the first twist into this. Apparently, one of Cassidy's names is 'Wayne'."

"The _first_ twist?" Sprink yelped, "How many are there?"

"At least a couple more," he said with a wry grin. "Bearing in mind that our favorite girl billionaire is also an occlumens, she mentioned that some people 'shout' mentally, it's almost impossible for her to ignore what they're thinking. She said it's like walking through a party, some people are louder than others." He looked at Sprink, and said carefully, "Cassidy was 'shouting' (he finger quoted), at Malfoy's trial, about Mattie's future, while she was sitting _next_ to Mattie."

"She revealed Mattie's future to her? Oh, my God," Sprink said. "That can't be good."

"No, she's trying not to act on that foreknowledge," Charlie said. "Professor Dumbledore apparently also picked up on it, _he_ knows her future, and he's offered to erase the memory." He played with a rock, "Personally, I think she should, but she said it would leave a scar, and she'd try to recover the memory." He looked at her, "Ready for the third twist? This involves Arthur."

"Do I want to hear this? Probably not, but go ahead," she answered herself, bracing.

"Arthur _cannot_ know this," Charlie emphasized. "_Cannot_," he repeated. She nodded, and he slowly said, "Mattie has proof, stand-up-in-a-court _genetic_ proof from Alfred that Cassidy is related. She's the great-granddaughter of Mattie and..."

"Arthur..." she whispered. "From somethin' like 400 years from now..." Sprink dropped her face in her hands, "Never has the phrase 'Merlin's mighty balls' ever rung so true, an' the way they're going..." She looked at the lake, "What you and I do, we figure a way to get that genetic material, because the only other option I see is breakin' into the infirmary's secured storage, which even You-Know-Who wasn't able to do with Malfoy as a school governor. That's why he kidnapped P'fessor Harry, y'know."

"No, I didn't," Charlie said.

Sprink blushed, "Keep it quiet, please, it's a family secret, Aunt Bellatrix told it to me. Loads better security than the Ministry. The wards are blood-matched to Aunt 'Cissa, Pomfrey, an' the Headmistress, no one else even knows where they are in the castle."

"Before we, or Mattie for that matter, decide to do anything criminal, hear me out," Charlie said.

Sprink leaned back against the tree, "I'm listening," she said.

"I thought about this last night, and I think we've missed something important. Cassidy has... will have... whatever, eight great-grandparents." Sprink nodded as Charlie continued, "We know two of them are Arthur and Mattie, we might be another pair ourselves."

"Duh, thank you Captain Obvious."

"She should never have introduced you lot to the Internet," Charlie grinned. He asked, "Can we prove their bloodlines mix in the next generation, with OUR kids, or could they mix somewhere further down the timeline?"

"Oh, Merlin..." Sprink whispered, as she thought it through.

"Instead of Arthur and Mattie having a kid who turns out to be one of Cassidy's grandparents, could it be they _each_ have kids that are her grandparents?" Charlie asked. "Instead of making sure that Cassidy gets born, maybe she's doing something that _prevents_ that from happening. Unless she's got all the facts, all of them, how can she know she's doing the right thing?

Sprink looked at the lake as she worked through Charlie's argument. "So we do... nothing?" she asked.

"On this problem? I don't see what we could do," he replied.

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 10, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall (free period), Hufflepuff table: 14:47 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Who's got their History essay done?" Bill asked.

"'Bout half," Warren said. "I've got through about 1500 BC, I keep getting tangled in all the different Pharaohs. Mumpty-mump the sixteenth bequate Whosit the fourth..." he shrugged, "How do you keep them straight?"

"The same way you Brits do with all your different kings and queens and dukes, I guess," Bill replied.

Anna sniffed, "Bloody Yank," but she said it with a smile. "Let's see if there's a way to remember them, like the schoolyard poem about the Kings," she asked her brother.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall (free period), Gryffindor table: 12:52 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Mattie's cell phone rang: Caller ID displayed 'Lois Lane'. She answered it, "Hello, Aunt Lois, what's happening?"

"Someone just crashed a plane into the North Tower of the Trade Center."

"Oh, crap!" People looked up at her, and she asked, "Keep me informed, would you? We've got New Yorkers here." The twins shot a look at her as she hung up. She looked at them, "Someone just flew an airplane into the North Tower. Where do your parents work?"

"Seven World Trade, and the South Tower," one said, the color draining from her face. Mattie handed over her cell phone, pulling her laptop over. "Where's Connie?"

"Muggle Studies, I think," Sprink said, "What's wrong?"

"Sounds like a terrorist attack in New York," Charlie said, as Arthur left to tell his sister and her second-year friends. "I'll go with you," he told Sprink.

------------------------

Mattie's cell phone made a strange sound, and Roshawn handed it back as Mattie went pale, saying, "I can't get through to either one of them." Mattie pressed a key combination, "Hello?" She listened for a minute, adding, "I'll meet with him, but only if I can bring three friends. They have family in New York. I won't promise anything past that." She glanced at their worried faces, "They can keep quiet about this. What are the current access codes?" She scribbled down numbers, then said, "See you shortly," and flipped her phone closed. Stabbing her finger at the twins and Connie, "Change – jeans, boots, at least two shirts, with your brooms and wands. Ten minutes, seventh floor, I'll take you three to New York, and this trip never happened. You will not talk about it to anyone, including your parents or relatives. Understood?" They nodded; Mattie stood and walked out.

------------------------

"What are you doing here?" Mattie asked Arthur, he simply tapped his eyes. She considered this, then said, "Stay with Connie, would you?" He nodded as she keyed a number into a small pad. A field flickered out, the door opened, Connie letting out a small gasp at the machinery. Mattie moved to a control pad, entering numbers, the machine starting to whine. As she worked, she asked, "How far is the UN from the Trade Center?"

"Across Manhattan," Roshawn said.

Finished with the controls, she turned to address the others, "I'm setting this for all five of us. Once we arrive, you'll be somewhat dizzy, take ten minutes to rest and recover, then on to Manhattan." She waved them in as Connie asked, "Going WHERE?"

------------------------

"Welcome to the Watchtower," Batgirl said with a smile, helping them out of the tubes.

"Watchtower?" Connie asked, "Oh. My. God, the JLA?"

"That's right," Nightwing said, helping them to a bench as a utility belt was passed to Mattie. "Superman and the others are in space, fighting Imperix, it's up to us to help."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Manhattan, Tower Two, 89th floor: 09:03 (New York time)   
_**------------------------

Maria's boss put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Despite the expensive suit, he still showed traces of his Brooklyn heritage. "Back to work, everyone!" he shouted, waving his arms. "Tower security says we're good, so we're not evacuating. We've got money to make for our clients!" He waved his arms again, and Maria shrugged, returning to her desk. As she smoothed her skirt to sit, she glanced out the window to see a grey jumbo jet a few hundred yards away.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Manhattan, United Nations: 09:15 ( New York time)  
_**------------------------

With a hum, the guards turned from the small TV they watched to see Batgirl and the Justice League arrive. One guard said, "A second plane just hit the South Tower."

"Oh my God, WHERE?" one of the girls with them said. "Mom works in the South Tower!"

"TV's saying the south side, about the 75th floor," he replied. "They said they were evacuating the towers."

Connie was frantically dialing her cell phone, Mattie cast a privacy spell on her as she said, "Times? Koslowski, please, this is her daughter." She listened for a minute, then said, "Thank you!" She looked at Mattie, saying, "She's in Battery Park City, they'll pass a message on when she calls in." Closing her eyes, she whispered a quick prayer, then told her house mate, "Let's go."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Manhattan, World Trade Center, South tower area: 09:22 (New York time)   
_**------------------------

"Oh, god, where is she?" Shaundra moaned to herself as she circled the tower again. Roshawn had gone to check 7 World Trade and her father. She had once somehow survived the vicious updrafts and the smoke to check the roof, only to find it deserted. She blasted a door open, but that was all she could do, she barely survived getting back in the air.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Manhattan, South tower, 107th floor: 09:25 (New York time)   
_**------------------------

Maria looked out the window through the thick smoke, she could occasionally see people on broomsticks and helicopters circling. "Why don't they land?" she asked, and turned to see half a dozen men trying to break open the steel door to the roof using a table as an improvised battering ram.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Manhattan, South tower, 107th floor: 09:58:51 (New York time)   
_**------------------------

The floor suddenly tilted to the south, causing the battering ram crew to lose their footing and the table they were using to slide across, breaking one of the windows and filling the air with thick black smoke. The floor shifted again, a woman fell out the window with a piercing scream, and with a mighty groan, the floor shifted again, throwing Maria out the window.

------------------------

"Hello, Maria," a young woman said.

Maria looked at her, then at her digital watch, which was frozen at 9:59:03, and then at the ground a few hundred feet below. "What's going on, why aren't I falling?" she asked. "Why aren't I dead yet?"

"I'll get to that, it's been a busy day for me," the pale-skinned young woman said, as she sat in midair. "Allow me to introduce myself, I've been called many things over the aeons, but it boils down to my job. I'm the Reaper, Maria, also known as Death, and I've stopped time for our little chat."

"Does that mean..."

"No." It was said with great finality. "That's the most common question, but no, Maria, this is your scheduled time, or rather, in another second, when I start time again, and you land." Death looked at her, "Your husband is safe, Roshawn is with him, Shaundra even managed to land her broom and blast open the door on the roof. It's too bad the FAA wouldn't allow landings, several pilots wanted to risk it." She waited while Maria said a quick prayer, adding with a small smile, "Any last requests, and no, it doesn't hurt."

"You. Would you please let my girls know I love them very much?" Maria pointed at Death. "You personally."

"Certainly, you have my word. Ready?" Maria nodded, and a second later, her lifeless body thudded to the concrete.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Manhattan, World Trade Center site: 10:49 (New York time)  
_**------------------------

Connie coughed, fanning the fumes away. With a twitch of her wand, she cast a bubble-head charm on herself. Pocketing her wand, she wiggled through a small hole, finding a trapped woman, dressed in a once-immaculate business suit. Drawing her wand, she cast another bubble head charm, saying politely, "Hello, ma'am."

She coughed, "Hi, there. Thanks for the air, but don't worry about me, I'm not going anywhere. I heard at least three people further down, get them out first."

"But..." Connie said.

"Get them first," the woman said. "I'm dying, I know it. I've got crushed legs and metal through my gut. Just promise me you'll get them out, and I can die in peace." Connie hesitated, the woman screamed, "GET THEM FIRST!"

"Yes, ma'am," Connie said, as Arthur worked his way through the narrow hole. As Connie moved forward, he told her, "I don't know how much good this will do, ma'am, but this is a painkilling spell. '_Negotium_'."

Her eyes closed for a moment, "It helps, thank you. Get the others, please."

------------------------

"Hello, there," Connie called down to the trapped people. She lit her wand, seeing a man with two kids in a small pit. "I didn't know there were kids in the Trade Center," she said.

"Daycare, I was just dropping my kids off," he said. "What happened?"

"Someone flew jumbo jets into the Towers, they've both collapsed," she said. "You've got maybe forty feet of rubble above you, we need to get you out."

"I'm never going to fit through that hole," he said, "Get my kids out first." He addressed his two sons as he dug through his pockets, "Adam, Billy, I want each of you to take one of my business cards, keep them in your pockets, and you'll be staying with your Mom in Jersey for a while. Go with..." he asked, "What's your name?"

"I'm Connie, and I'm with my friend Arthur," she said, mustering a facade of cheerfulness. "I live off Central Park, we're going to help you out and get you cleaned up. Is your Mom's number on the card?"

"Let me get that," he said, looking for a pen. Connie pulled a quill from her pocket, and tossed it down to him. He looked up at her, "A quill?"

"What else would witches and wizards use?" she replied with a grin. "I'm going to join you, we're going to get your kids out, and Arthur will get them out and pass them over to Emergency Services." She turned serious, "You'll see at least three dead bodies, and a dying woman, she insisted we get you first." She started to squirm through the hole, bracing her feet on debris, she dropped the last few feet.

"You're a real witch?" Billy, the youngest at about four, asked. "Where's your wart?"

"I spelled it off," she said. "Want a ride on a real broomstick?" she asked, pulling a broom from her pocket and expanding it. "Up!" she told it, and it floated in midair.

"Cool!" the kids said, their father said, "I thought witches only existed in fairy tales."

Connie shrugged, "We've been hiding since the 1600's, the Salem witch trials and all. I'm breaking wizarding law in showing you, but they can prosecute me later, I need to get you out."

"I won't say a word," the father said, adding, "You must be Arthur."

"Yes, sir," he replied. "We brought several people with us, and I think I can enlarge this enough to get you out. Kids first, though."

------------------------

"Okay, sir, your kids are with Emergency Services, your turn now. If you can squeeze through this opening, I'll pull and Connie will push."

"Brace your left foot on that piece of concrete," Connie said. "Sorry about your suit."

"Screw the suit," he said. "If my kids are okay, I'm good." He held his breath, bracing his hands on the edges and shoved through as Arthur pulled. He popped through, followed shortly after by Connie. They crouched in a small dome in the debris, all three panting. After a minute, he said, "Thank you. If there's anything I can do, let me know." He passed over a card, "Tom Billingsly." He glanced around, "That was worse than playing against Ohio State."

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" Arthur said with an exhausted grin. He gestured, "That way, please, Mr. Billingsly."

------------------------

"Just a minute," Connie said. She turned to address the still-trapped woman, "Ma'am, this is Mr. Billingsly, the last of the three you told us about. His kids are with Emergency Services."

"We're going to get you out," Mr. Billingsly said.

"No need," she said. "I'm hanging on by my fingertips. As long as you're safe," she gave a rattling gasp, "Just tell my family I love them. Elizabeth Snowdon. Could you give me Last Rites?"

Tom Billingsly looked at the other two, who shook their heads, "Ma'am, none of us is Catholic, but we'll pray with you."

"Thank you," she said, "I appreciate that." Her breath rattled, and she coughed up blood as Tom crouched next to her, holding her hand, and saying, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall..."

Elizabeth Snowdon coughed violently, gave a final rattle of breath, and went limp.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, September 11, 2001:  
Manhattan, Koslowski apartment: 23:47   
_**------------------------

Beth Koslowski looked at the two teenagers sleeping on the fold-out bed. Both exhausted, the raven-haired girl clutched at the boy as they slept, her hard-as-nails persona erased for the moment. His arm circled her protectively as they slept together, she smiled softly, '_They're going to deny this in the morning_,' she thought, and pulled out her camera, snapping a picture.

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, September 12, 2001:  
Manhattan, Koslowski apartment: 09:21   
_**------------------------

Arthur awoke slowly to something tickling his nose. He waved at it, but it didn't go away. Blearily, he awoke to see Mattie's green eyes looking at him, a slight smile on her face. "Good morning," she whispered.

Without moving, he looked past her to see a wavering blue privacy spell around them. He whispered in reply, "Good morning yourself, beautiful."

"You're not so bad looking yourself," she teased. "Although there's always Sprink..."

"Yeah, right," he said quietly. Pausing for a moment, he asked, "You wanna talk?"

"I'm willing to if you are," she replied. "I think I owe you an apology," she added.

"I owe you one too," he admitted. "Wanna trade? Ladies first."

"Chauvinist," she joked. "I shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion with you and Shiva," she said. "Sorry about that."

"My turn, then," he admitted. "I should have clued you in on Shiva's plan, as much as I knew about it." He reached up to brush back her hair, "Did you bug our house?"

"Well, duh," she replied. "Think you lot can handle Luthor? Pardon me," she finger-quoted, "President Luthor?" She glanced at him, "I didn't touch the bathroom or your parent's bedroom, I do have some sense of decorum, you know."

"That's a relief," he admitted. "You can talk to me, you know, like why you keep that cursed brand."

"It's a reminder," she said. "A reminder of every slave that's suffering, that's..."

"Then keep the brand if you want," he said, "There's no reason to keep the curse on it, though. That's just foolish."

"That's what other people said," she admitted. "Mom, Tomas, even Aunt Babs." She snorted, "She said it was like her keeping the wheelchair after she could walk again," and flicked a glance at Arthur. "I'll reconsider it, although..."

"Do I want to hear this?" he asked rhetorically.

"A prank, a prank on the whole school," she grinned mischievously. "We're good, right?" He nodded, and she said, "It's been a while since I pulled a prank. We continue the argument, resisting all attempts people make to get us back together, and then we show up together at the Halloween Ball..."

"You're an evil woman," he said, and she grinned modestly, "I do try..."

"Let's make it look convincing. Think you can toss me off the bed from there?" Arthur flew through the air as the privacy spell vanished, retaining enough presence of mind to fall correctly.

"Fine, hate me all you want, Wayne," Arthur said angrily for his audience. "But right now we need to either get back to work or go back to Hogwarts before we get into even more trouble."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, September 12, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Seventh floor: 14:11 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

Mattie Wayne stepped out of the transport tube to see a frowning Headmistress, who asked, "Well?"

"My mother is missing..." Roshawn managed to get out, and was hugged by her sister. Arthur took a step aside, adding softly, "Her father's safe, but her mom worked in the South Tower, and there's been no word yet."

"I see," Minerva said, then glanced at Connie. "Your mother, Miss Koslowski?"

"Safe and on the job, she insisted we come back here," she replied.

"Very well. I suggest you clean up and go to dinner, I will speak to Professor Snape about your missing his class. I wish to see a detailed report from each of you regarding your experiences, and I believe Professor Hagrid will need some assistance with the Thestral herd. The five of you will assist him for an hour after classes through the end of the month as your detention for being away from school without permission," the Headmistress told them. "Finally, each of your houses will be penalized twenty points. Off with you, now."

"Yes, ma'am," the five students replied.

------------------------  
**_Thursday, September 13, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Charms class: 13:01 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

Professor Flitwick looked up from the roll, "Mr. Morton, Miss Wayne and the Cortez ladies, please see me after class. Also, if Miss Bundy will accompany Miss Wayne to the staff meeting next Wednesday morning?"

------------------------

"Yes, Professor?" Arthur asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes," the tiny professor said, casting a privacy spell. "Yes, there's a healer in Hogsmeade that's specializing in mental difficulties. I've talked this over with Minerva and the others, you'll go under cover of one of Severus' 'detentions', as there's a stigma attached to this, for some reason." He favored Mattie, "That includes you, Miss Wayne. Go for as long as you need to, the school is paying for it. I'm certain none of you will have trouble sneaking out of school."

------------------------  
**_Friday, September 14, 2001:  
South West London, Fulham Industrial Park, Unit E1: 09:06 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Good morning, and welcome to TallGrass," Shernette said, concealing a flutter of nervousness. "Did everyone remember their hard hats?"

"Aye, lassie. Dinnae worry, we're not going to eat you," MacAdam said. "We want ye tae do well."

Shernette coughed, then smiled, "Shall we get on with the tour? If you leave your laptops here, Jenni, our office manager will move them into the conference room for you."

------------------------

"The bamboo area is physically the largest area, due to the size of the plants," she said, stopping outside the black and white striped line. "On the moon, we're planning twenty meter stalks, because of the height of the roof here, we're using four meters." She gestured to the hard-hatted employee, who activated the machine as she continued, "Mark Atherton is our engineer, plumber, and all around fix-it bloke." She waited for the chainsaw to finish, the claw dropped the stalk on the lathe as she continued, "We're planning this to use a minimum of Earth-imported materials, that's why the wooden shelves are labeled 'concrete', I understand Arrowhead's working with a firm developing that."

"We are," Sheila Hawking said with a smile. "Good call, to help boost the local economy."

"What happens to the stump and organic debris?" the fellow from the Agriculture ministry asked.

"It's shredded and pulped," Shernette replied. "We're still working out an efficient way to separate the roots from the rocky growth medium, which we're simulating here with garden gravel. There's a bloke that's developed a process for creating bio-diesel fuel with the cuttings, we're awaiting various licenses for the micro-organisms." She nodded to Mark, who started the lathe, which quickly planed the stalk down to a uniform size, then dumped it to a roller, which dropped it into a power hammer. She continued, "After the hammer breaks up the joints, the stalk is soaked to separate the lignin, the soak-water is steam-distilled and the residue is collected." She gestured, "Over here, we have the fibers, which are now a uniform length being spun into yarn. Are there any questions about bamboo?"

"Plant nutrition?" the Agriculture fellow asked.

"Computer controlled," Shernette replied. "Our botanist Jeffrey Beane controls the mixture, pH, temperature and such for each species and batch, he mixes the main tanks. There are sensors in each hydroponic tank to monitor it, the local computer controls the valves to match the levels he sets." She gestured, "The black and white tape on the floor represents pressurization environments, the plants are above ground, they drop through the floor for processing, which keeps the radiation exposure to a minimum for the workers." She waited, then said, "If everyone will follow me next door (she finger-quoted), we'll take a look at cotton."

------------------------

"That sweet corn was amazing," the Agriculture bloke said. "How did you get it to grow like that?"

"We cheated a bit with the garden vegetables," Shernette admitted. "They're in a reduced gravity field and pressure, with 24 hour grow lights and a higher CO2 concentration in their enclosure. We couldn't afford to reduce the gravity for the entire building, but that small plot we figure is enough to feed two dozen people." She held the door to the conference room open, "We figure we can baseline those against the produce in the greengrocers." As they filed in, she gestured at some Styrofoam coolers against the wall, "We've got samples for you, please be careful, they're packed in dry ice. Would anyone care for a cuppa?"

------------------------  
**_Saturday, September 15, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table: 08:08 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"What are you working on?" Charlie asked as he joined them for breakfast.

Taking a sip of her coffee, Mattie replied, "One of the tabloids called me the 'Queen of Space'. Well, this queen is working on self-rule for her subjects, just a list of things." Felicia raised her eyebrow, and Mattie continued, "We need to have the population at a certain point for genetic diversity and survival, but there also has to have enough infrastructure to sustain it. It won't do to have a vote if you can't feed yourself."

"So when would we get a vote, be official 'Loonies'?" Sprink asked.

"I think citizenship should be earned, not simply granted as an accident of birth," Charlie said. "Too many slugs who sit about, collecting the dole and watching telly. No, you've got to contribute, even if it's only waiting tables."

"What if you lose your job, would you no longer be a citizen?" Andrew asked. "There's the possibility of abuse there."

"Basic rights," Amanda replied. "Basic food, medical care, education, housing, water, air, and communications. Anything else you pay for. It wouldn't be posh, but you could survive until you find another job and get back on your feet. Part of the taxes you pay." She took a sip of tea, "You'd lose your citizenship, like now, if you committed a crime."

"You've already got it set up for government law and medical care through the Portmaster on the moon," Charlie said. "It's a simple expansion of their writ, they have a housing office." He took a sip of his own tea, "What else?"

"Morning," Arthur said as he walked up, "What are you talking about?"

"Mattie's freeing all her workers," Sprink joked, then replied, "Self-determination on the moon. What are some of the conditions?"

"A power and communications grid, industries, farms, universities and at least one hospital," Mattie replied. "They say we need at least four thousand people for adequate genetic distribution, I'd round that up to ten thousand just to be sure. I'd also make citizenship something you have to test for, not be born into." She gestured at the newspaper lying next to Sprink's plate, "Don't you really wonder about some people? It's far too easy to kill someone in space, you don't want to evacuate a compartment because someone couldn't be bothered to read a sign."

"So I would be a citizen of Grimaldi, while you might be a citizen of Oldridge," Arthur said slowly as he sat down away from her. "Like different cities? I don't know if we want your kind," he joked to his 'former' girlfriend.

"Get your low-class air away from my high-class nose," she replied, ostentatiously fanning the air, then snorted into her coffee as the rest of the group looked at each other.

------------------------


	4. Week Four, 16 – 22 September, 2001

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
4 – Week Four, 16 – 22 September, 2001, Fourth Year  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, September 16, 1380: (Julian)  
London, The Strand, Bundy Estate, Morning room: 07:29   
_**------------------------

Robert looked at his wife as she mercilessly scoured the table, "My love, what is it?"

"Anne," she replied, sinking into a chair with her face in her hands. "I wish I knew what had become of her..."

"We know that she arrived safely," he said gently. "We have posted our letters to her through the Headmistress, who saw with her own eyes her arrival in the twenty-first century. We know she is with kin, who will look out for her and protect her." He stood behind her, catching her into a hug, "She was wasted in this century, my love, she was frustrated and bored, she can become who she wishes..."

"Instead of being married off for political purposes, or becoming a farmer's wife," she added, turning in his arms. "I am not complaining, Robert, I love you and our children. But I wish I could receive just one letter..."

"You know that they dare not tell us anything," he replied. "I would also love to hear from her, but we are different sides of a wall they dare not breach."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, September 16, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Ravenclaw table: 07:49 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"I cannot discover it," Anne whispered, gazing at her laptop. "I hath failed."

"Failed at what?" Felicia asked gently.

"A way to contact my kin that doth not destroy the planet," she replied.

"Destroy ... the planet," the shy werewolf asked. "You know of a way?"

"Aye, half a dozen that woulds't crack the planet like a egg," Anne replied, taking a hard boiled egg and rapping against her plate. She peeled it as she continued quietly, "I care not for that, I merely wish to send a letter to my family." She glanced up from under her blonde fringe, "Doth thou understand?"

"My only remaining blood relation won't have anything to do with me since I was bitten," Felicia replied. "I appreciate Professor McGonagall adopting me, but I am still..."

"Alone, aye, thou doth understand," Anne said. "I wonder sometimes if I hath made a terrible mistake." She salted the egg, taking a bite.

Felicia slowly said, "About that letter, I think you're missing the obvious."

"If you have an idea, pray, tell me," Anne said, finishing the egg.

"Wayne was sent to the 14th century by spell," she asked. "Why can't you send a letter the same way?"

Anne stared at Felicia, before closing her eyes in pain. "I... am... a... fool!" she said, before closing her laptop and stalking off to the Library.

------------------------  
**_Sunday, September 16, 2390:  
Luna, Port Grimaldi, Cassidy Yates' apartment: Hour 360/708   
_**------------------------

The door buzzed, and Cassidy said, "I'll get it!" as her house guest continued working on the salad.

"It _is_ your domicile," the red-skinned slave said calmly as she neatly chopped vegetables. She looked up, "Greetings. Will you be staying for the meal?"

"Couple a' weeks, both moms deployed for an installation," the red-haired girl said as she took a seat. "I didn't know we had slaves here, aren't you cold?"

"I am abandoned property, Miss Yates will be bidding on me in the Portmaster's auction," the nearly naked slave replied. "I am comfortable, are you not overly warm?"

"Now that you mention it, I am, but I haven't developed a nice chest like you and Cassidy have," she said reflectively. Holding out her hand, she said "Sam Browne, with an e."

"Greetings, Sam Browne with an 'e'," the Korugarian slave replied. "I am S'nash 145. Please forgive my not offering to shake hands, the sterile field, you understand."

"Don't worry about your chest, they'll come," Cassidy said, entering the small kitchen. "Be glad you're not in a full gravity, they'd be a lot heavier an' droopier, and we'd have to wear bras. B'sides, it's just us girls, I've just spent Daytime in my skin suit, I'm glad to be out of it. Nighttime is a time for study and quiet, we've all got studying to do. Sorry there's only the one bedroom, though."

"The floor is..." S'nash began, when Cassidy interrupted, "No. You've got to stop thinking like a slave. Honestly, what was your master thinking, naming you 'Wrench'? One bed, three girls, it will work, and did you take the Oath?"

"I am not yet free, and cannot be for at least a year and a half," S'nash said. "I decided on the train from Port Oldridge to ... try it out, I will be using it for my Guild certifications." She looked at the other two, "As much as I would like to be free of this collar, the Oath does hold some appeal."

"Okay, what is this 'Oath' you two are talking about?" Sam asked.

"Sterilize your hands, and add the meat to the salad, and we shall tell you the story," S'nash said. She glanced at her hostess, "I have done a bit of study on your history, do you not know who she is?"

"She's just, y'know, Cassidy," the young girl said. "Neighbor, friend to Mom, just, well, Cassidy," she said as she folded her blouse, tossing it over a chair back.

"I need a drink," Cassidy muttered, pouring beer into a stein.

Sam looked between them as S'nash asked, "Her clan name means nothing?"

"Yates? Not really. Old lunar family," the girl said, turning the chicken in the pan and accepting a plate from the overhead wicker storage.

"Perhaps this means more," S'nash said with a smirk, and Cassidy gulped the last of her beer. "Wayne," and Sam fumbled, dropping the plate. Fortunately, S'nash caught it before it crashed to the floor.

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 17, 2001:  
Hogsmeade, 26 High Street, office : 13:04 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

John Connor sighed to himself, looking on as the Yank teenager continued to prattle on about her mother in the Trade Center disaster. '_Really, does she think she's unique_?' he thought to himself, stealing a glance at the photo DGSE had sent him of his hostage family. '_Time to work on earning their freedom from Paris_,' he mused, leaning forward to ask, "What about your schoolmates? What do they think?"

------------------------

Babs leaned forward, taking a look at the psychiatrist's report, emailed from Hogsmeade to the DGSE's drop address. '_Shaundra's still upset about her mom_,' she thought. '_Not surprising, but there's nothing unusual here about Hogwarts or the League. I'm glad he's not using a one-time pad, it would take up too much processor time_,' she mused, patting the link to the BatCave's Cray.

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 17, 2001:  
Hogwarts, History class: 13:03 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Professor?" Anne asked as Remus packed up his materials.

"Yes, Miss Bundy? How might I help you?" he asked. "I must say, I do appreciate your taking my class. It lends a certain... personal interaction to the lesson."

"'Tis my pleasure," she replied. "'Tis fascinating to see what I experienced from a different view. In any case, I would beg a boon from thee." He motioned, leaning against his desk, and she continued, "I hath been researching ways to mail a letter to my kin, and been frustrated, until 'twas pointed out that Miss Wayne dids't travel by spell, and there was no reason I could not send a letter the same way." He started to say something, and she held up her hand, "I am aware of the necessity to protect the timeline, therein lies my boon. Woulds't thou examine my letter to ensure I reveal naught of the future to them?"

"Normally, I would decline on ethical grounds, as your correspondence is your business, not mine," he said slowly. "However, as you have requested it, with good and sufficient cause, I shall point out anything I think might pose a problem. You might then edit your letter as you see fit." He gazed at her, "Miss Malfoy simply thrust Miss Wayne back through brute magical force, how will you determine a precise destination point?"

"I do not know at this point, nor the exact spell to use," she admitted. "I shall need to consult with Professor Flitwick on this. Might I use your name, should he ask?"

"I shall bring it up at the Faculty meeting on Wednesday," he said. "I believe you were coming with Miss Wayne in regards to Arrowhead?"

"Aye, he was inquiring into ways to store magical energy, and we doth believe it hath commercial potential for Arrowhead and, t'were Hogwarts to license it, to the school." She grinned, "Be cert to have thy solicitor present, should contracts need negotiating."

------------------------  
**_Monday, September 17, 2390:  
Luna, Port Grimaldi, Cassidy Yates' apartment: Hour 365/708   
_**------------------------

S'nash looked up from her tablet as Sam stumbled into the small meal prep... 'kitchen' she reminded herself. "Did I awaken you when I suctioned out my bodily waste? I apologize..." she said, starting to rise. "May I fetch you..."

Sam waved her down as she peered into a stainless steel contrivance. "Na, I'm fine. Let me get the tea going..."

"What is that device? I confess I do not understand its function," S'nash asked.

"Called a samovar, first thing is you wash it in very cold water," Sam said as she did so. "Then you fill it with more cold water, just above freezing. You plug it in, while the water heats, you fill this with your tea concentrate, an' let it steep here, above the heating water. When it's ready, you mix the concentrate with the hot water, and fix your tea."

"Would it not be more efficient to simply use hot water, or instant tea, or..." S'nash stopped, "The expression is one of distaste."

"It would be more efficient," Cassidy said from the door, "You would lose the anticipation, it would not be as pleasant. Like getting your freedom now, instead of waiting and working for it." She yawned, "What's everyone's plans?"

"I shall be working on the History division of my citizenship examination," S'nash replied. "I shall be here, most likely. I would inquire as to your thoughts regarding a slow-cooked meal for tonight."

"Sounds good, maybe over some rice?" Sam said, passing Cassidy a cup of coffee. "I'm going to interview with the Grimaldi Portmaster about my Community service. I've already got my History, would you like me to look over what you write?"

"I would appreciate that," the slave said. "I am anticipating the results of my Guild examinations, I may need to go out for that reason."

"I need to go by Greywolf's for some parts," Cassidy replied. "Why don't we meet for mid-meal on Grimaldi High Street at..." she craned to look at the clock, "...around 372 or so? You both have my phone code?"

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, September 19, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Faculty lounge: 07:01 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Good morning, Miss Bundy, Miss Wayne," Minerva said. "How nice to see you again, Ms. Hawking," she added, holding the door open. "Please come in, I believe you know our solicitor, Mr. Sharlin?"

------------------------

"What can Hogwarts do for Arrowhead?" Minerva asked, levitating the tea-set about.

Anne replied, "One of the problems the galactic economy hath is a lack of long range communications. Currently, it is less costly to send a ship from one planet to another than to send a message. In addition, that message is broadcast so that all may listen, even if they doth not understand. One reason for this is that secure point-to-point transmission doth require quantum entanglement, but the equipment for such cannot be transferred through FTL space, as it doth destabilize the fifth-dimensional harmonics through the quantum oscillator..."

"Eh?" Hagrid grunted, shaking his head.

"Let me try explaining," Mattie said with a grin. She glanced at her notes, "There are three ways to send a message faster than light." She held up three fingers, "The first way is to have someone carry it for you, like the Royal Post or FedEx." She folded down her middle finger, "Now, as fast as that can be, there are times it just isn't fast enough. The second method," she said, folding down her index finger, "is instantaneous, but it is very expensive, insecure, and very energy intensive. As Anne said, it costs less to go in person than to call ahead. Physically, it's somewhat similar to the Wireless, in that one station broadcasts and anyone in range with an active receiver on the right frequency can hear it, including your enemies."

"Wouldn't they simply use code?" Professor Vector interrupted.

"They do use encryption, but that has limits. I'll give the details later to anyone who wants them, but the point is the costs for this system go up as the cube of the distance you want to talk. They use relays where possible, but a direct call of 100 light years would cost..." Mattie checked her notes, "Almost 300,000 galleons an hour, primarily for the energy costs and associated wear and tear on the equipment."

There were low whistles as Mattie took a sip of her tea. She waved her thumb, "The third method uses very little power, but has strict limitations. You can think of it as two tin cans and some string. It's a dedicated link, and while each can can be used as a relay to another can, it's secure. The string is infinitely long and transmits instantaneously over any length, but the string breaks if you move either tin can faster than light, or if a can loses power for even an instant."

"How do they deal with that problem?" asked Mr. Sharlin.

"They doth not," Anne answered with certainty. "Redundant power doth be irrelevant. They doth use special ships that take centuries to slowly travel from one star to the next. It is a difficult task, even when all goes well. The limited experience we hath gained enow hath taught us how seldom things go well."

Hagrid gave a brief, amused chuckle as Mattie continued, "What we are proposing is research to find a method to magically keep the string from breaking when it normally would. Magic is not widely used among the stars, so I think there is a good chance that this approach hasn't been attempted before."

Into a silent room, Callista Vector whispered, "The economic advantages would be... enormous."

"Not enormous, incalculable..." the Headmistress whispered.

Mattie continued, "Using the the tin can method, because it has no range limitations and minimal operating costs, is ideal for connecting embassies and remote offices with their home worlds. That would be our initial market."

"Hold up there Miss Wayne," Hagrid put in suddenly. "Even if Flitwick here can come up with the spell ya need, what does he cast it on? I don't know anything about this fiddle-faddle, but I'm sure there's some machinery involved somewhere that we poor Earth-folk don't have."

"Our prototypes..." Anne started, and Mattie held up her hand.

"Prototypes?" Harry asked. "You have _working_ FTL comm gear?"

Miss Wayne's green eyes locked onto him as she replied, "There are three different communications systems used in space. There is short range for docking, buoys and so forth. Subspace, which is used inside a star system, and long range, which we are currently discussing."

"Why can't you use subspace to go to another star?" Harry asked.

"You need a fairly good sized repeater buoy to boost the signal," she replied, "The signal starts to degrade about 23 AU, and it's pretty much gone by 25 AU. Therefore, to get to Proxima Centauri, the closest star, with a booster every 20 AU, you'd need 13,500 of these boosters in a line, and each one has a lot of the same tech, and costs about a third as much a small starship. For a system like ours, you'd use... (she checked her notes again) 325 boosters for spherical coverage of the system to the heliopause, which is 100 AU from the sun, but for interstellar? Possible, but _very_ expensive." She checked her notes again, he nodded, and she continued, "One thing we've noticed is that galactic tech seems to go to 'good enough' and stop any further development. That happened about eight hundred years ago with quantum entanglement, ever since then this technology has been written off as sub-economical, because of the destabilization problem."

She took a sip of tea, "The tech and the science behind it are thus very cheap, we should be able to manufacture our own. The worst case is that we would need to buy the links, in any case, it's important for Earth to have an income source other than our tungsten reserves."

"Good on you, then," Hagrid replied.

"I'm not so sure Rubeus," Sinestra put in. "When I was in space, my magic was gone, it came back partially on the asteroid. We would need some method to keep the charm working during transit."

"We hath noted that ourselves," Anne said. "Might it be connected to mass or gravity? In any case, where shalt we hold thy research?"

"Not at Hogwarts," Snape said. "Someplace with magical properties, though."

"Malfoy Manor," Narcissa said. "It is built on the conjunction of several lines of magical force, and I am currently the only one the wards will allow in." She glanced at Mattie, "It does need repair, though. Perhaps as a wizarding spa or hotel."

"That might work, but I think Sprink mentioned something about vineyards there," Mattie mused. "I'm certain that Mr. Griplink of Gringotts will give you an _excellent_ rate on any..." she finger-quoted, "...'redevelopment' loans you might take out..."

"I'm certain..." Narcissa replied, asking, "Just how big are these... 'packages' we are discussing?"

Mattie glanced at Anne, replying, "Use a cube three meters on a side, our 'packages' fit in that space." She tented her fingers, asking, "Is there a difference in the magical energies between wizards and elves, or goblins?"

"Elves and goblins are inherently magical," Professor Flitwick said, looking at Narcissa. "The elves could serve as a security force for the research, as well as take care of the guests."

"I believe we can craft some contracts, then," Mr. Sharlin said, but Mattie raised a finger, "A letter of understanding with Ms. Malfoy, the Elf Council and their respective solicitors will need to be involved in those negotiations."

------------------------

"You'll be rather busy over the next while, Filius," Lara Croft told her colleague as the left the staff room, "What with the research into the spells and packages. Anything I can do?"

"If you could assist Miss Bundy in researching the temporal spell she needs, I would appreciate it," he replied. "I suspect that the spell Miss Malfoy used in her abduction of Miss Wayne last year was rather Dark in nature, I would prefer to have a faculty member available." They strolled to their classes in silence, he added, "I do not believe she would use it irresponsibly, however, I am certain it is beyond her current abilities."

"Her current spellcasting abilities," Lara clarified. "Certainly not her intelligence. I would dearly love to know why Alastair put her in the Den, instead of our house."

"Something I doubt we shall ever know," he replied, pausing at the base of a staircase. "You know what he is like, he considers his Sorting of each student a sacred, private trust."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, September 20, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Headmistress' office: 16:08 (GMT)_**  
------------------------

Minerva heard someone clear their throat from outside her open window, and looked up. She blinked, then stood, throwing the window open fully, "Mr. Kent! Please, come in before someone sees you!"

"Thank you, Minerva," Superman said, flying in and standing, resting a hand on the back of a chair.

She tutted, "Sit down, sit down. You look like you're going to collapse. May I get you anything? Is this Superman business, or that of Mr. Kent?"

"Thank you for reminding me," he admitted, and the level of his fatigue was such that she could almost see him change clothes, far slower than his normal rate. In a tenth of a second, Clark Kent rested in the wingback chair, "I wanted to stop by to return Mattie's Ring, and to let you know that Imperiex has been defeated." He tried and failed to suppress a yawn, "Excuse me."

Minerva clucked, "You're not going anywhere tonight, Mr. Kent. You're going to take rooms here, and you're going to rest." He nodded, and she added, "You sit right there and close your eyes for a moment, I'll fetch Miss Wayne."

------------------------

Mattie opened her cell phone, and watched her Uncle Clark sleep, floating a few feet off the ground. Casting a privacy spell so she wouldn't disturb him, she opened her phone, "Aunt Lois? Mattie. Uncle Clark's here at Hogwarts, he's asleep right now. No, he's fine, just really tired. Professor McGonagall gave me the rest of the day off, and tomorrow if necessary. Anything I need to know?" She nodded a few times, then said, "Don't worry, I'll keep watch on him. You know it. See you tomorrow." She closed the phone, banishing her spell, then got up to let Sprink in at her quiet knock.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, September 22, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Ravenclaw table: 07:16 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Hello, Shaundra, Roshawn," the twins looked up on hearing the strange voice, and found a young woman, apparently in her late teens or early twenties sitting at the table across from them. Pale skinned, with black hair and wearing a silver ankh necklace, she smiled at them.

"Who are you?" Andrew asked warily.

"Maria, who's the twin's mum asked me to stop by," the young woman said, causing a galvanic reaction and a whispered, "Where is she?" from Shaundra.

"In line." She gazed at the twins, "You really have no idea who I am, do you?" She glanced over, "No cheating, Miss Wayne. Let them figure it out."

"How would Mattie..." Andrew asked, only to see a pale and shaking Mattie Wayne staring at the girl with undisguised horror.

"Yep, she knows who I am, but she's wrong as to why I'm here," the girl said. "Here's a clue, I'm really, really old. The first billion years are the most boring."

"It wasn't something I did?" Mattie asked.

"Nah, you were pretty good, except for one night you forgot your silencing spell." She glanced over at Arthur, "Thank the gods you were what she was thinking about that night," and glanced over at Anne, who was blushing furiously. "Now you, on the other hand, Miss Bundy, had best be very careful what you let slip on the letter to your parents. The mention of your cousin is fine, and the presents you're giving them, but nothing else."

"Who ARE you?" Amanda demanded.

"Still haven't figured it out?" the girl 'tisked', then held out her hand, "My name is Death, at your service." The twins screamed and leaped at her.

------------------------

"You know, that's not very practical," a thoroughly unruffled Death said as one twin stabbed her, while the other tried to strangle her. "You can't kill me today."

"She's one of the Endless, seven beings that exist because we believe they exist," Mattie said, pulling Shaundra into a headlock after disarming her while Charlie restrained her sister. "Where is your horse, by the way?"

"Grazing with the thestrals," Death said, shaking out her hair. "Really, I do appreciate what you're doing, and it's a common reaction. You can let them go, I want to pass on their mother's message." A Stygian black spell enveloped the three as Professor Snape arrived, asking, "Who is that?"

The spell dropped as she said, "Shame on you, young Mr. Snape, you should know me intimately," and Charlie coughed, "Er, Death, Professor Snape. Professor Snape, meet... Death."

------------------------


	5. Interlude one, Fourth Year

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
**5 – Interlude one, Fourth Year  
------------------------  
Sunday, September 23, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Potter flat: 07:21 (GMT)  
------------------------**

"Just a second!" Ginny called. When she opened the door, she had a blue clothed baby in her arms. "Oh! Hello, what brings you two by?" Molly made her presence known by a wail. "Well, come in!" she said before asking, "Could one of you hold Sirius for a second?"

Arthur suddenly found a not quite nine month old in his hands. He hesitated a moment before placing the infant on his left shoulder, patting his back. Sirius burped and drooled on his shoulder, and Charlie chuckled. "You've done this before, mate."

"With my nephew Carson, and don't repeat that, please. I just don't wanna break him."

"That is harder than you think," Ginny said as she returned carrying Molly on a hip. "Come in and have a seat while I get Harry."

"Actually, we're here to see you," Charlie said.

"Oh, really?" Ginny replied, pleasantly surprised. While she acted as an unofficial 'house mum' to the whole school, it was normally the younger girls who came to her for help. "Well, come in, have a seat," she said. "What can I do for you two?"

Arthur and Charlie exchanged nervous glances, Arthur stroking Sirius' back, before Arthur stammered, "The Halloween Ball is coming up next month and... um... We asked Professor Sprout, she said you... We don't want to look stupid so we uh..."

"We need dance lessons," Charlie blurted out as Sirius blew a spit bubble.

Arthur cocked his head and said firmly, "I was getting there."

"Slowly," Charlie shot back.

Ginny giggled. "Pomona told you I like to dance, did she? I wish I could get Harry to take me more often."

"Someone call me?" Harry asked as he wandered into the living room, taking Molly in her pink romper from his wife. He grinned, "Sirius seems to like you, Mr. Morton. He's never gone to sleep that quietly before."

"Um, we don't want to look like stupid twits dancing with our girlfriends come Halloween so Professor Sprout suggested we ask your wife for dance lessons," Charlie said, as Molly was handed to him. He added, "She suggested we mention your brother Ron and his fourth-year dance."

Harry winced as Ginny giggled, adding "Trying to make time with my wife? Maybe I should play it safe and turn you both into toads," Harry said in mock seriousness.

Charlie replied in a similar tone, "Professor, we are honored that you consider us a threat to your marriage. But we've both got girlfriends who would rather disapprove of that, all we want are dance lessons." He shuddered, Molly looking up at him.

"Oh Harry," Ginny said lovingly. "I think it's wonderful that these two don't wish to disappoint their girlfriends. You could learn something there." Turning toward Arthur and Charlie, she continued, "I would be delighted to teach you... if we can come to some sort of agreement about what my time is worth." She grinned at Arthur, "You may blame your girlfriend, Mr. Morton, although I don't think we need a formal contract. A handshake will do."

"Oh, lord," Charlie groaned, and Ginny grinned.

"You two had best learn how to take care of tykes and nappies," Harry said with a grin, reaching down to take his wife's hand.

**------------------------  
Sunday, September 23, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Library, study room two: 07:27 (GMT)  
------------------------**

"My prank's ruined..." Mattie complained quietly to Sprink as they entered.

"The one with you and Arthur?" Sprink replied. "I didn't believe it anyway. You two are fated, mate, fated," she said as she pulled out a chair to join the Bundy siblings. "What can we do for you?"

"Thou knows't I am attempting to send a letter back by spell," Anne said. "I believe I will be successful as Karen was kind en'ow to bring back the journal of that time my... father kept. He doth record a large windfall of 'almost a stone' that dids't allow him to buy off a local duke that..."

"That's not important," Kelly said. "We have two problems, one of finding the proper spell, and refining it to arrive in time to make use of it, and finding 'almost a stone' of treasure. We don't have fourteen pounds of gold..."

"Don't worry about the money," Mattie said, and turned to Anne, "I owe you money, overdue salary, does it say how it arrived? What form it took?" Anne blinked, "Gold, silver, gems, emeralds or diamonds? Ropes, jewelry, chains, gold sheets, or concealed?"

"Um..." Karen said as she paged through the thick, dusty tome. "There's a mention of new artwork they received from 'abroad', but nothing about gold or jewels."

"Then that's how we send it," Sprink said. Turning to Anne, she said, "I'll check with Aunt Bellatrix, she knows where You-Know-Who's final headquarters was. She'll check the library, an' I'll ask Aunt 'Cissa 'bout Malfoy Manor's library. Anyone have an objection to using a 'Dark' (she finger quoted) spell?" There were chuckles and snorts, and she said, "We can send photos with gold frames, hide the diamonds and such in the frames."

"That works," Karen said, and Mattie was on her cell phone, "Mr. Griplink? Mattie Wayne, I'm sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning. Yes, they're fine. Oh, really? Certainly. Do you know Ms. Karen Bundy? Yes, she just graduated, she's working with me at Arrowhead. No, she played Chaser. Yes, that's the one. I'm going to need some art and jewelry valued at thirteen and 7/8 troy pounds of gold put together, including two frames, A4 size with hollow gold. Pea-size diamonds will be fine. Yes, commissions and fees are separately billed, please. There's a little bit of time, but she'll stop by tomorrow to discuss it with you. Of course, of course. Thank you, and have a pleasant day."

She flipped her phone closed, and said, "I have one condition on this, Anne. I presume you have a way to contact them, some sort of code?" Anne nodded, and Mattie continued, "I don't want to read your mail, that's your business, but you're as aware as I am of the necessity to guard the timeline. I'd like someone else to look over something this critical."

Anne looked at her siblings, "I hath already made that arrangement."

There was a knock on the door, and Charlie entered with Arthur and asked, "Sorry to interrupt, but Mattie and Sprink? Can you meet us at one today at the Room of Requirement?"

"What for?" Sprink asked.

"Dance lessons, we don't want to embarrass you at the Halloween ball," he replied. Glancing at Anne, he added, "If there's something we can do to help you post your letter, let us know."

"I have a class I'm teaching this afternoon, I'll take a rain check today," Mattie said. "Let me know when the next one is, though," and Charlie nodded.

Sprink said, "Wait a minute. Charlie, when Cassidy was here, she borrowed your phone to take a piccy of the group, didn't she?"

Charlie nodded, "I've still got it. Need a copy?"

"Yes, please," Karen said, looking down the table at Mattie, "Before you two left on your summer trip to the stars, you took a piccy of the family. Would you send me a copy, I'll get prints made, A4 size." She looked at Arthur, "You're supposed to be pretty good with a charm, could you find a charm to make photos look like 14th century paintings?"

"They didn't have perspective drawing then," Arthur said slowly. He looked up, "If I can't find one, I'll make one. Maybe make them look like religious art?" He nodded, "When do you need it by?"

"My target doth be Christmas," Anne said, "I do thank thee for thy kindness."

"Our pleasure," Charlie said, nodding to the group before leaving with Arthur.

"A couple of good blokes, there," Kelly said, Karen adding, "Don't let them get away, you two." She flipped her blonde hair back, "We'll check our spell-books, but what about Professor Snape and the Slytherin libraries?"

------------------------

As they were getting ready to leave, Anne said, "Forsooth, I was thinking of taking a class at this MIT this summer."

"Nice idea, if they have them," Karen said. In response to Anne's inquiring look, she added, "Not all universities have summer classes. And it's not a place where you can just walk in and say 'teach me'. You would have to apply and be accepted."

"I'm... hesitant," Mattie said. "With what you know, and what you're working on, you're a tremendous asset to Arrowhead, and you would be a kidnapping target for Luthor. I'm worried how safe you'd be."

"What if I went?" Karen asked. "They have a great business school, and I could probably transfer credits." To her sister, she added, "Don't look at me like that."

"Let's keep it in mind," Mattie said. "We'll see what happens."

**------------------------  
Monday, September 24, 2001:  
ε Orionis, Approach: 18:25 (relative)  
------------------------**

"Approach Control to Query," the comm said.

"This is the Query, go ahead, Approach," Edward Nigma replied, turning to the view screen. "Are we too late for the orientation meeting?" he asked the slave on screen.

"No, master, it starts tomorrow. I can register you if you'd transmit your documentation." Eddie motioned to 383 at the comm station, the slave on the screen said, "Receiving, master. Would you like quarters, or will you be staying aboard ship?"

"Quarters, for myself and my first mate," he said, gesturing at L'jissa. "I have seven slaves that will need cell space, food, water, that kind of thing."

"Of course, master," she said, keying her terminal. Looking up, she said, "You are registered, master. Please follow the glide path, bay 1838 is reserved for you. Enjoy the orientation, master. Approach, clear."

"Well, that was relatively painless," Eddie said. "How long until we land?"

"An hour," L'jissa said from the helm. She turned to look at 383, "You and your sisters had better get ready and lock yourselves down in the small cell." She tapped the side of her head, "Mentally, too."

"Of course, mistress," the girl said. She motioned to the screen, which showed a water world with chains of islands, "Enjoy the view, it's a lovely planet, and I'm quite looking forward to the convention." She turned, and with a grin, "Master, I keep thinking I should be wearing a red mini-dress for comm work."

Eddie chortled, "Thank you, my dear. I needed that." He told L'jissa, "I'll explain later," then tented his fingers, "I don't think the name fits you, though." He mused, then looked at her, "I have it, my dear. I dub thee 'Frax', and aren't you concerned about your safety?"

"Not particularly, master," the newly named Frax said. She cocked her head, "How many conventions have you been to?"

Eddie mused, "I do not recall any, why do you ask?"

"Master, when I was working my way through college, I worked part time for a company that rented out 'booth babes' (she finger-quoted). I've worked hundreds of conventions in and around London, and believe me, I'm wearing more now with my collar and belt than I did for some of them." Frax folded her feet up to sit tailor-fashion on the chair, "Master, the way I see it, the worst thing that will happen to me is I get groped. Well, I'm wearing slave kit, to a slaver's convention, and I just happen to be a slave." She tugged on her collar for emphasis, "I don't have to worry about rape, the belt doesn't allow it, I won't be murdered because there's going to be security there and they'd have to deal with my pissed-off owner," she pointed at Eddie. "Master, I won't have to wear heels for eighteen hours a day, and so what if I sleep in a concrete cell for a week? This is actually better than having to deal with thousands of drunken barristers who each want a free t-shirt. Just please, please don't pair me up, master." She passed over a pad, "Here's your hotel reservation confirmation, the cell rental information for us, and layouts and schedules for the different speakers, Master." She unfolded her legs and stood, "I'm going to prepare your slaves, Master. This should be fun!"

"One moment," Eddie turned, "Given your experience with conventions, I will agree with you, with one exception. I do not trust the twins by themselves, and the triplets will be with Z'hann. I cannot leave those two in a cell, so they will be chained to you, and under your command. You may bind them as you wish, the objective is to gather intelligence, and the more eyes, the better."

Frax groaned, then said, "Yes, master. I can hear their whining already, can I gag them?"

"Please do so," L'jissa said, and Frax left at her wave. "I agree with her, I don't think we'll have problems, except where we need to buy slaves," she added as the door closed behind their 'slave'. She leaned forward, staring at the screen as an orbiting spindle-shaped warship came into view, painted light blue. "Source, look at the size of that monster! It must be 300 meters!"

'The US Navy has carriers larger than that,' Eddie thought, but didn't say. 'Oil tankers are larger than that.'

------------------------

Frax wandered through the exhibit hall, wearing her smock and slave belt, a small pouch belted around her waist. Behind her to the left and right trailed the twins, the three reluctantly linked together by a light neck chain.

"Pardon me, master," she asked a young man in a booth. "My master wishes me to learn more of his ship's computer systems, is this the correct area?"

"This is the correct area, girl," he said with a smile. "Computer software for the slave trade. What of the other two wenches?"

"They are cargo handlers, master, and are being disciplined."

"You will need to take them over to the light blue area, then. Let me tell you about our company, 'Happy Slave'."

Frax cocked her head, "What does 'Happy Slave' do, master? It seems a contradiction."

"Not all slaves have your positive attitude toward their collar, girl," he replied. "As such, their work is generally sloppy, there's no pride in their collar. As such, most masters are forced to treat their slaves harshly, whereas if the slave would do her work correctly, he wouldn't have to." He reached out, grabbing her chin and turning her head, "Good, you're an enhanced slave."

"Not by my choice, master, but then again, I'm a slave," she replied.

"This is an add-on to your enhancement, it makes life easier for both you and your master," he said, adding, "All of you, kneel over there, on that bench."

Frax hesitated, the salesman said, "Don't worry, this is a free demo version, girl. Your master won't be charged for it. Kneel on the bench," he repeated with a little more force.

"Yes, master!" Frax said as she hurried to kneel where he indicated. He pushed her forehead down into a padded notch, connecting two cables to the access point in her right temple and pushed a button. "Our software enhances the pleasure center in your brain. Now, when you're obedient, you feel pleasure, you'll need to be obedient, because it makes you a happy slave. I developed this for enhanced slaves like you, you'll be a much happier slave now, as you'll find out in a minute. This is a demo version, your owner can buy a license to make it permanent." He played with her white-blonde hair, her silver collar visible on her neck as she twitched occasionally while the software installed itself in her brain. "Your master allowed this when he ordered you to look about, it's in the chip work for his attendance," he mused.

------------------------

Frax couldn't do anything, she was becoming... enthusiastic about her slavery, it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her, every female belonged in a collar... Masters were far wiser than she was, whatever they wished to do was right and correct... She ached to obey an order, and heard the young (but ever so smart!) master tell her to sit back as she felt him disconnect the cables, and she said, "Oh, thank you, master!" meaning every word.

"How's this version working?" another wise master asked, and was only proper, she lowered her head in respect. He lifted her chin, and she moaned at his touch, eager for him to give an order, any order, she wanted, she needed to obey...

"Better than the last version, look at her," the master said. "She's about to fark herself from my touching her chin," and he chuckled. He addressed her, a lowly slave girl, "Girl, you won't get any relief until you're given permission, no matter how much you need it. Stand up, spread your feet," and he was generous enough to touch her, to tighten her slave belt, and to roll the front of her smock up. "You're a pretty wench," he said, and she swayed on her feet in pleasure. She felt something on her lips, and a gag was shoved in, a ring clipped in the septum of her nose to secure it. She felt it under her chin, and he clipped a ring on her neck.

"Her master may not like that," the first, young smart master said, and she wondered why her master wouldn't like what was done to her. She was only a small, insignificant slave girl... She blinked back tears as rings pierced her nipples, chains from the ring clipped to the rings, pulling them up painfully, but she didn't mind, she was only a slave...

"It's covered under the show's license, which means we get free advertising with each slave," the marketing fellow said, looking at the short, platinum blonde slave standing before them, a sign swinging from her front. He reached out to adjust the roll of her smock under the chains pulling up, telling her, "Beg your master for surgery, you need more meat up front, girl," and she whimpered once in obedience through the gag that covered the lower part of her face. The sign read, 'I'm a 'Happy Slave', and gave marketing information. He reached out to touch her, wiping a bit of red blood off the sign, then slapped her arse, and the three slaves wandered off.

------------------------

"Get in line, slave," Frax was told by another slave, and of course she obeyed, like the happy slave she was. As she waited, she examined her new instructions, and remembered her master's permission to reset her commands so she could do as she pleased. 'That was silly,' she thought. 'Why would I want to command myself?' She leaned over a padded rail as ordered, and felt her hair pulled into a knot, and sheared off. She was just so happy to obey, it gave her such a feeling of pleasure. She missed her beautiful hair, and was mildly concerned what her beloved owner would say. She felt a wrench at her arse unplugging her waste vent, and wished she was allowed to have her waste suctioned, but her masters knew best of course... A helmet was locked over her head, and she felt a pair of hoses connected to her waste vents, and squirmed to give them better access, shuddering in pleasure as it was suctioned. Her scalp itched, and she wondered what was happening to her master's slave. 'If masters think I need to know, they will inform me,' she chided herself.

After a few minutes, the hoses were disconnected, and she felt a tickling on the back of her knees as her arse plug was replaced. A slave's hands pulled her upright, and pressed down on her shoulder for her to kneel. She felt hands on her newly-ringed nipples, and the helmet was unlatched. A slave touched her earlobes, and held up a pair of diamond studs for her to see.

'Those were Mum's studs,' she thought, then wondered at the irrelevant thought. She saw a slave put them in her little waist bag, telling her with a smile, "We don't want your Master asking after these, do we?" With a hand on her elbow, she rose, and was guided to a mirror, where the other slave pulled her hair to the side, hair that now tickled her ankles and trailed on the floor. Shaking her head, she saw the dark gag over her lower jaw, a plume of white hair trailing from the back of her black steel slave belt, her arse plug now had a long plume of hair. Delicate tufts of white hair streamed from black metal in her earlobes and nipples. The slave grinned, touching her ringed nipples, "I placed Master's marketing chip in your little bag. Like it?" Frax nodded, and the slave gathered her hair, wrapping it behind her bound wrists. "That way, you can walk without tripping, and your hair's not bound like a free person's. Master didn't think of that, but he doesn't have long hair like we do."

Frax was shocked that another slave would dare to criticize her master, but then the girl made up for it by forcing her beloved slave belt tighter, slave tight to the limits, and slapped her arse.

------------------------

Frax entered the small cell her master had rented behind one of the twins. She sat back, carefully placing her ankles in the stocks in the center of the cell, and leaning back so the ring snapped closed about her neck.

"What's happened to you?" Z'hann asked from across the cell. Shockingly, she wasn't obeying orders to secure herself, as masters clearly wished. Frax simply twisted, showing the sign hanging from her (inadequate) front, and Z'hann said, "They've reprogrammed you, haven't they?" For some strange reason, she was sympathetic instead of envious, but once masters decided to ungag her, Frax was confident she could convince her sister slave. She sat back, her head resting against the rough concrete, and went to sleep.

**------------------------  
Tuesday, September 25, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead lobby: 13:15 (GMT)  
------------------------**

" ...and that doth create a passive sensor grid," Anne said as she pulled the door open. "The buoys doth be linked through a tightly focused subspace-shifted baryon decoupling... "

"Miss Wayne!" a heavyset man said, jumping up and shoving Anne aside, "We must talk..." He stopped when several guns were pointed at him by the security people. "You don't understand, you simply must drop your embargo..." he added weakly.

"No, mate, you don't understand," one guard said. "You're under arrest for assault on Miss Bundy. Hands on your head, now."

"But... I'm the president of Harvard..." he protested, slowly raising his hands. "I'm very close to President Luthor..."

"You can call the embassy from The Yard," the fellow said as the president was cuffed. "Miss Bundy's a VIP, she's under SO1's protection, mate," he added as he was searched and hustled out.

A tall, silver-haired fellow approached Mattie, hands out to his side. "Miss Wayne? We had an appointment?"

"Oh, yes," she said, and motioned to the elevators, "Sorry we're late, there was a delay on the Tube. Shall we go somewhere more comfortable than the lobby?"

------------------------

On the fifth floor, Mattie stopped by her cubicle, dropping off her laptop case and bag, the president of CalTech offering, "This looks like a lot of Silicon Valley firms."

"That's where we got the idea," she replied. "This building originally had a pub on the ground floor, it was rebuilt after the Blitz into a small apartment building. It was bombed again by the IRA, we've basically rebuilt it, although the basement needs waterproofing. The only original part is the tea shop, they've got a 99 year lease." She grinned at the older man, "I'm of two minds about Greywolf moving out, we can certainly use the room, but I've got a lot of friends I'll have to walk across the street to see now. Of course, they have a pub on their ground floor." She motioned, "There's a conference room I've reserved for us."

As they walked, CalTech asked, "What was that with Miss Bundy?"

Mattie turned near a glass wall, "Anne has developed a lot of our FTL tech, for instance the subspace tunneling she was talking about. She can take galactic tech, and translate it into technology we can build." She waved at the glassed in room, "We're designing subspace buoys, she's come up with a new wrinkle, instead of active scanning like radar, she's proposing linking the buoys in a passive network, like sonar." She waved her hand over her head, "I've had some calculus, but she's way past me, maybe Dr. Hawking at Cambridge can understand her when she gets technical." She glanced at MIT's president, "Maybe you can understand her. I understand your degree is in engineering?"

"Civil engineering," the tall, silver haired fellow said with a grin. "Bridges, dams, and other targets. Not high energy physics, although I had the usual courses. That's why we came over, to see if you're willing to drop your embargo."

Miss Wayne waved her ID card at a sensor, unlocking a door, then stopped short, leaning against the wall. She ran her hand over her eyes, then leaned in, "Get a room, on your time, not mine!" There was a feminine shriek, and she let the door close again. "I apologize, the room is... temporarily unavailable. Do you mind someplace more casual?"

"A cup of coffee?" the bearded CalTech president said.

------------------------

"Let me clarify my position on the embargo," Mattie said as she stirred her coffee. "I have no problem with using American firms and universities, as long as they're willing to share their data. We have a great deal to do and not much time. However, as long as Luthor sits in the Oval Office, and is not willing to do the same, the embargo stays." She took a sip, "I don't want him to get this tech, although I understand you've already approached him about it."

"We have," CalTech said. "He fired his National Science Adviser, I understand she's now Provost at Stanford." He shook his head, "The idea behind an Adviser is to give you the information you need, especially if it's conflicting. Still, his polling numbers are up, he's taking credit for defeating Imperix. Nothing like a war to pump up your ratings, and he's been demonizing you (she chuckled), he demanded the resignation of the Naval Chief of Staff when he reported the Cubans had antigrav fighters."

"He's just shooting the messenger. The Cubans handled it beautifully," MIT added. "They made the announcement at the Paris air show, trumping the Pentagon and the French at the same time." He leaned back against the counter, "On the other hand, regarding Arrowhead, all one has to do is to look at the moon, that was a brilliant bit of marketing." He took a sip himself, "How far along are you?"

"Our first solar power satellite is about to go on-line," she said. "Our LEO platforms are pretty much built, we're planning at least two more stations, one for GEO and one in a Lissajous orbit around L1. The Russians were kind enough to lease us a few square kilometers at their South Pole research station, that's been our final testbed for a lot of lunar equipment." She took a sip of coffee, "How's NASA doing?"

"It's a government bureaucracy," CalTech shrugged. "They're still using the shuttle, it's what they have. Everything needs to go through multiple layers of management, it's worse than contracting with the Pentagon."

Anne walked in, and Mattie asked, "Are you all right?"

"Aye, the ruffian dids't not harm me," she said. "I was more shocked, 'tis strewth. Pardon me," she said, and CalTech moved aside as she fixed a cuppa.

"Anne Bundy, please allow me to introduce two visitors," Mattie said, motioning first to one, then the other. "The bearded fellow is the president of CalTech, and the tall fellow is the president of..." she grinned, "MIT." Anne squealed, dropping her cup.

------------------------

Miss Wayne had the reflexes of a snake. Her hand flicked out, catching the cup of tea and placing it on the counter. She took her friend by the shoulders and said, "Anne, I know you want to go, but until I'm assured of your safety..."

"Aye," the taller blonde said. "Thou did give thy oath to my parents and to Headmistress Oldridge. Still..." she flicked a glance. "'Tis what I hath been awaiting lo these centuries, that I might learn..."

"I've been called a paranoid bitch," Miss Wayne said with a bit of a chuckle. "Let me be one on your behalf, all right?" She handed Anne's cup back to her, "Write me a report on your idea, and remember, small words, lots of numbers and this time, no more than ten pages, please?" The blonde moved off, only not without a backward glance.

"That," CalTech said, "was an interesting little conversation. Centuries?"

Miss Wayne took a sip of her coffee, replying "You do not have 'need to know' on how. Suffice it to say that in addition to acquiring a starship with an AI named Alfred, Anne came along for the ride." She took another sip, "She was born in 1365, we have copies of her baptismal certificate. That's what was used then, and she's got the brains of the entire Manhattan Project. She is also still rather medieval in her attitudes, she was somewhat shocked to learn that the King had stopped the practice of public hangings before Sunday church services. She considers modern law far too lenient, but then again, at the time, stealing more than three shillings was a hanging offense. She doesn't understand why I don't simply challenge Luthor to a duel, and settle things."

Finishing her cup, she said, "I confess the thought has crossed my mind, as by my count I've had five kidnapping attempts on myself, the French have tried six times to kidnap Alfred, and there have been two attempts on my family and friends." She gazed at the two men, "Anne, and not I, has been declared by the Crown a 'Person of Interest', and she has multiple layers of security." Crossing her arms, she said, "Now, given that one of my kidnappings was by the US Secret Service under Luthor's orders, how are you going to satisfy me, and more importantly, her father's ghost, that you can protect Anne while she's wandering around campus?"

"Ghost?" MIT asked.

"Ghost," Miss Wayne confirmed. "You are aware that London is possibly the most haunted city on the planet? Anne's ancestral home has been continuously inhabited for some nine hundred years, it's on the National Register. She herself is a minor noble with a hereditary title, and yes, I've met her parents' ghosts."

"Sorry, I have trouble believing in ghosts," he replied, topping off his coffee. "After all, we're not sitting around a campfire." He waggled the carafe, Miss Wayne pushed her mug toward him, as she asked the air, "Clarisse?"

"Yes, Miss Wayne?" CalTech almost dropped his mug as a greyish form appeared out of thin air. "Have you found my bones yet?"

"Not yet," she replied, perfectly calm as she took the carafe, poured her coffee and replaced it on the burner. "We're still looking, but I think you're right, they're under the furnace. We've still got the east wall to check, but we're pretty sure we've found Delbert's bones. Unfortunately, he's under the tea shop, and we don't have permission to dig and check." She stirred her coffee, "Where is he, by the way?"

"Watching the 'iron carriages', as always," the ghost replied, and giggled. "You think he'd never seen an Underground before."

"We think he's older than you, Clarisse," Miss Wayne said. "Around the Great Fire of the 1660's or so. They wouldn't have had them then." She motioned, "Clarisse, these are two professors from America, they came to visit."

"Hello," she said, "Have you come to help us defeat the Jerries?"

MIT glanced at Miss Wayne, who nodded. "Yes, we have."

"Good," she replied. "Winnie said on the wireless last night, 'All we have to fear is fear itself,' we discussed it in class today." She turned, then ran through a wall between the two men, who both shivered.

"Cold, isn't she?" Miss Wayne asked. "She's a typical ghost, in my experience. Not much of an attention span, and her learning is limited to what she learned when she was alive. Mention that World War Two was over sixty years ago, she won't remember it." She took a sip of coffee, "It does help identify her as a victim of the Blitz, though. She can't pinpoint her bones, she won't recognize them, and ghosts can't pass through pine or over running water. The only way they can is if a 'live 'un' (she waggled her finger back and forth) carries them. Once we find her bones, which I think are under the furnace, we'll have to positively identify her to give her a proper burial."

**------------------------  
Tuesday, September 25, 2390:  
Luna, Port Grimaldi, Cassidy Yates' apartment: Hour 410/708  
------------------------**

S'nash gazed at her screen, 'Source, I hate written tasks,' she thought. 'Better to go and do, but this is part of the requirement for citizenship. Best to lock it and move on.' The first question read:

**What is 'civic equity' and how does it apply to citizenship?**

Cracking her knuckles (a human habit she'd picked up), she wrote:

Civic Equity is that part of the citizenship requirement that encourages participation in the society. Each person is assessed, based upon their income, a number of hours to assist in the running of their community. They may choose from a list of volunteer organizations, or may apply to the Assessment Board for a different task. However, the wealthy still must perform a minimum number of hours, the poor may not completely pay their annual assessment through labor, as the community must still purchase supplies. This also encourages social networking, the person next to you weeding the garden may be able to assist you to better yourself.

Once you have completed your first annual assessed equity, you may continue if you wish, these hours are bankable, and roll over in subsequent years. This is used as a meterstick in political campaigns to judge a candidate's commitment to the community, as the 'equity hours' cannot be transferred between persons and civic officeholders do not accrue hours as part of their duty.

A person becomes eligible for the citizenship process at the age of ten standard years, and may start to accrue equity hours at that point.

On a criminal conviction any banked hours are lost, the convicted person must complete the citizenship application process again as part of regaining the right to vote and own property. If there was loss of life the convict may be sentenced to either permanent banishment (if the death was accidental) or execution (if the death was intentional). This has only happened in two cases, resulting in one banishment and two executions.

She paused, looking over her screen, then saved it and moved to the next question:

**There are three graves along Port Oldridge's crater wall. What is the history behind those graves?**

She remembered the first from a display in the port's museum. The other two had taken a bit of research. Checking her notes, she started:

The first is the grave of C'hash 842, who was working as a crane operator when she was exposed to a sudden solar flare event, and died from radiation overdose. At the time C'hash, an enhanced slave, was encased in a standard slave work pod, which can be mated to a number of different heavy construction devices. C'hash was an experienced operator, her work pod was fitted to a transport module which is driven into the equipment. In the case of the crane, it is driven into the base.

S'nash sat back for a minute, sipping her tea, and thinking about how the young girl must have felt. 'Comfortable,' she decided. 'It is something that she had done many, many times before, for masters, and then for herself.' A last sip of tea, and she stood, walking around the counter and washing her teacup, then refilling it. The incident report she remembered had faulted the design of the transport module's treads, which featured four centimeter spikes for better traction. In the base, that had not mattered, as the holes were larger, while in the crane, the one bent tip had proved fatal, bending enough so the module could not be driven out.

'No one knew of the bent spike,' she thought. 'At the time, you could work as many hours over your shift as you liked,' S'nash mused. 'The pods are equipped for over two hundred hours of use, the only limiting factors being atmosphere and nutrition. The pod-girls usually volunteered to work long shifts, signing off when rest was needed and sleeping in their pods.' She added a touch of lemon to the tea, she mused, 'When there was a solar flare warning, she could not escape her position, and in the rush to get all inside, she was missed. She died of radiation poisoning in her pod, it became her coffin.'

The death of C'hash 842 forced a re-evaluation of all galactic technology, she wrote. No more would a slave be bound into a work pod because that was the design, there would always be manual over-rides and escape methods. C'hash is buried in her pod, the other remaining pod is displayed in the museum as a reminder.

The other two graves are positioned in shadow, only lit at the time of their execution. They are the cause of the declaration of personal responsibility, part of the citizenship process. They were two bored teenage males who stole a go-cart and reset a railroad switch, causing a train to derail at 400 kilometers an hour, killing six people. They showed no remorse at their trial, indeed, they thought it was a game of some sort, giggling furing the process, and kept giggling until the lock opened and air pressure pushed them out to fall 200 meters onto the surface.

**------------------------  
Wednesday, September 26, 2001:  
ε Orionis, WorkForce convention : 08:02 (relative)  
------------------------**

L'jissa paused, sipping at her morning cup of tea and watched Z'hann work her way toward where she sat, the triplets chained to her. They finally arrived, and knelt before her, like other slaves were doing to their owners. Leaning forward, she asked quietly, "How are things?"

Z'hann traded looks, replying, "Mixed, mistress. We agree that we can be unchained, but Frax and the twins have been tampered with."

"Reprogrammed," Two said, her sister Eight adding, "It's not so much the physical changes, mistress. A company called 'Happy Slave' was the first to hang signs from their front, but they aren't the only one. If that was all, we wouldn't worry about it, we're slaves, we can expect that kind of thing."

"That's easy enough to repair," Z'hann said, shrugging her shoulders. "No, mistress, from what we can make out, all three of them think their collars are the best things to happen to them. We can't ask them directly, as they won't let any of us remove their gags. As we understand it, only Master Eddie, their owner, can do so."

"Where is this company?" L'jissa asked. "I think I'll take a walk over there."

"Then take me with you, Mistress," Six said. "While you're talking to them, they can 'upgrade' me," she said, finger-quoting. "Where is Master Eddie?" she added.

"His seminar is running long," she said, leaning forward to separate their leashes. "I'll give him a report tonight at dinner," she said as Six cuffed her hands behind herself.

------------------------

"It's a clan collar," L'jissa told the salesman, as Six knelt, the proper slave. "Tell me about this, I've heard some interesting things."

"While our slaves prepare yours, why don't we talk?" he said, dismissing from consideration her black collar with the white lights. After all, it was a wide galaxy, and his planet was rather small and backward.

------------------------  
**Wednesday, September 26, 2001:  
Tokyo, Tanaka Heavy Industries, Research hall 6: 13:19 (GMT +9)**  
------------------------

"This makes no sense to me," a low voice graveled. The senior researcher started, spinning on his chair to see the Chairman looking over his shoulder. He prepared to stand, to bow low in respect, but he was waved down. "Explain to me what you are looking at," he was ordered.

"Hai, honored Chairman," he replied. "This project is the food replication system. As you are aware, the British created the original specification from the alien equipment, we are attempting to reverse-engineer it so our people can eat in space." The chairman grunted, "This equipment has three parts, this is the organic replication part, the actual food. The other two are the scanning / deconstruction and inorganic replication, for the silverware, bowls, and so forth."

"Go on," Mr. Tanaka said. "Why are you running behind schedule?"

"Honored Chairman, this is manipulation of matter at a very basic level," the researcher said delicately. "On the atomic level, we can scan a spoon or bowl, and then recreate them using a stockpile of raw elements. This means we can take a steel spoon and recreate it using iron, carbon, and so forth. This requires large computer resources and much electrical power, however, it can be done." The chairman grunted, and he continued, "More complex molecules in different arrangements are currently beyond us – we lack the computing architecture. This means that we can make a steel fork, ceramic bowl and drinking glass, but not a microprocessor."

"Do you require more computer resources?" the chairman asked.

"While honesty compels me to admit I would not mind the additional budget, it is not something that can be brute forced," the researcher said, and Mr. Tanaka gave an amused snort. "We need a lockpick, not a battering ram," he explained.

"Hai," the chairman said. "I am asking you to produce a microprocessor, then."

"An organic one," the researcher agreed. "Organic molecules are extremely complex, in order to be nutritious, they must be arranged exactly. They are actually more complex than that microprocessor, which is a set of layers. This is why we do not drink our tea from a chemistry flask (although he had memories of doing that in college), our tea is grown from a plant. Our latest attempt at a bowl of rice, which is made from fairly simple molecules, recreated the ceramic bowl correctly, but the rice was grey sludge. The mice died from eating it, even though our tests showed it was correct."

"When do you anticipate being able to offer me a bowl of rice, then?" Mr. Tanaka asked.

The researcher hesitated, "Currently, honored chairman, it depends on the computer architecture. They are estimating eighteen months or two years to have the required complexity."

"The warp drive people are saying the same thing," the chairman said. "They need to monitor and control their reactions on a very short scale, I believe he said a nanosecond?"

"A nanosecond, sir, is a billionth of a second. I am somewhat relieved that others are coming up with that limitation. Until then, we shall continue to work on reducing the overhead and power requirements. It does no good to black out Nerima ward when we flip a switch."

**------------------------  
Thursday, September 27, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 08:43 (GMT)  
------------------------**

"Post's here!" Mattie looked up at the usual flock of owls (and bats) entered, circling to land. When the usual flock had settled before her, she addressed them, "You should have been told, I've sold my interest in Ballycastle, you need to take your mail to Professor Vector from here on." Pointing, she added, "She's the blonde witch on the end in the blue robes." As the bats took off to fly across the room, she added to the owls, "Any of you lot with mail or howlers about the team need to see her as well." Most of the remaining owls took off, one large one stalked to her, wearing a Gringotts medallion, she stroked his head, asking, "Orestes, how are you? Is Mr. Griplink treating you right?"

The owl hooted softly as she untied his letter. Handing him a banger, the owl took off while she fished out her Gringotts' moneybag to decrypt the letter. Stowing it away, she sipped her coffee while studying it, Sprink asking, "You sold the team? Why?"

"I sold most of my interest in it to Hogwarts," she replied as she studied the statement. "The school needed a permanent source of income beyond student fees and donations, I'm retaining five per cent of the team. They got a good rate from Gringotts, and..." she took another sip, then folded the letter, "I made a few galleons on the deal."

"A few?" Amanda asked. "How many is 'a few'?"

"It's in the Reporter," Andrew said, folding the paper and passing it to his housemate. He looked across the table, "Three hundred fifty six thousand is what they're reporting," he added.

"Does it give a source for that?" Mattie asked. "I don't like having my finances spread out in the paper."

"It just says 'A source at Gringotts'," Amanda said. "A profit of that much gold..." she mused.

Mattie was on her phone, "Good morning, Mr. Griplink! Yes, I'm fine, I'm calling about a certain newspaper... good, you saw it too. Fine, let me know what your investigation finds out. No, I trust you, I'll go by what you find out. Did Miss Bundy get sorted out? Good, good. No, that was it, have a wonderful day. Thank you." She put the phone back in her pocket, "It was obviously an unauthorized leak."

"Someone's getting sacked..." Sprink sing-songed. "I wouldn't like to be in their shoes. I hope they made a good bit off that sale."

"That's all internal to Gringotts," Mattie said as she started to pack up. "We've got to get to Transfiguration. Anne? Anne?" she asked the oblivious girl.

"Eh? What hath I missed?" the blonde asked as Sprink held her hands over her eyes. "I am working on thy baryon detection field..."

"I don't even wanna know..." Sprink said, plucking the quill from her hand and handing her a muffin with egg on top. "Eat, we need to get to class."

**------------------------  
Thursday, September 27, 2001:  
Centauri, Docks: 15:40 (relative)  
------------------------**

The girl glared sullenly at Shiva as she was pulled through the personnel gate of the dock. That's all she could do, as she was gagged, cuffed and on the end of a slave leash. A locked tracking collar adorned her neck, she sprawled naked in the gravel as Shiva gave a last jerk.

The burly slave arose from where he sat, reading a newspad, asking, "Any trouble with her?"

"Her escort died trying to keep me from her," she replied. "Behold the escaped Q'nan the sixty-third, heir to the throne of the Su-lan empire, also known as 'Q'nan the pirate queen'. Her DNA scan matches the empire's to nine decimals." The girl glared at Shiva, if she could have spit, she would have. Instead, she gathered herself, kneeling regally in her black steel slave belt, back straight as her hands were pinned behind her. Shifting, she prepared to spring at Shiva, the slave prevented that by putting a sandaled foot on her leash chain. She glared at him, Shiva said, "Markos, take her inside and lock her in the slave cell. After we've lifted, you can work her as a slave, but our contract says no physical damage."

"No real slave collar, eh?" Markos said, "Girl, you got off lucky there, take my word for it." He tucked the newspad under his arm, pulling the girl close by her chain, "Girl, why you ran, I don't know and don't care. Until we get you back to the empire, you're my slave, and I'll work you like one. Maybe it will make you a better Queen someday."

**------------------------  
Friday, September 28, 2001:  
ε Orionis, WorkForce hotel, 16th floor, room 26a: 20:52 (relative)  
------------------------**

"Master?" Eddie turned from his contemplation of the sunset, the two small moons already visible over the endless ocean. Below on the beach, guests could be seen, attended to by slaves as they chatted or played in the surf.

"Yes, my dear?" he replied.

"Master, I wanted to say that... that you have been the kindest master I've ever had, and that... well, I wish..."

"Yes?"

"Oh, master, please, please take me with you! I know I'm a cheap slave, and I have no reason to hope..." the young black-haired girl looked up at him from where she knelt with tears in her eyes, "Please, master..." and she mumbled something.

Eddie turned, setting his glass on the table and sitting in a chair. "What was that last? I didn't hear you."

"I am sorry to bother you, master. I'll..."

"You'll answer the question, girl. What was the last thing you said?"

"Master, I..." she swallowed, "Master, is it so wrong to wish to live?"

"No, not at all," he said. "Explain yourself, please. Do you have a medical condition?"

"No, master, you are in no danger from me," she said with tears in her eyes. "Master, I have been this room's slave for the last six years. While you were at the convention, I was informed by the slavemaster's office that I will be replaced, as..." she sniffled, "I am no longer sufficiently pretty, I do not meet the standards, and..."

"You will be sold to another owner," Eddie said, not unkindly. "If I were to buy you, you do not know where I would sell you."

"Master, that is true for every slave, but it will be the first time for me on the block, and I'm frightened, master." She blinked back tears, "May I confess something, master? I know it is silly, I am only a slave, but..."

Eddie leaned forward, "But what?"

"Master, I know it will never happen, but..." she looked up at him, eyes filled with tears, "I... I HATE my collar." Her small hands pulled savagely at it, twisting and jerking as she knelt naked on the floor, she whispered, "I want to be free..."

Eddie felt as low as he ever had, but he forced the words out, "You are a slave."

------------------------

Her master had departed abruptly, and she worried that she had offended him. Washing her face, she had fussed with her hair as much as she could, kneeling and waiting for him. Looking up, she heard the lock click, and her temporary master strode in, tossing a chip folio on the table.

"Master?" she asked. "If I have given offense, I apologize..."

He waved that off, telling her, "Fix me a drink, and one for you." She blinked, and he held up two fingers. "Two drinks. You have solved a problem for a client. I have need of a quantity of cheap slaves, and I was not looking forward to paying full retail." He took a sip from the drink she handed him, "I have bought you, and some two hundred of your sister slaves." He motioned to the chip folio, "Those are your control chips. You belong to me, now."

"That's wonderful, master! I don't know how I can ever thank you!" she squealed in delight. Boldly, she stood, sliding down the zipper of his ship-suit. "Would master like to celebrate with raping his new slave?"

For some reason, this bothered her new master. "My dear, once you tell me how to unlock your belt, we shall play a small game, you and I. We shall pretend that you are a free person, after all, where I come from, a real man does not need to buy a female's affections to get her into his bed."

'Pretend I am free?' she thought. 'Like my dreams, my fantasies?' Slowly, she said, "Master, I do not know how to be free, I have always been slave. I have dreamed of such, as many do, but..."

"Let me help you, my dear," her new master said. "For tonight, you may decide for yourself what you want to do. If you do not wish to do something, that is your decision. However, you must decide what to do, based on the benefits and disadvantages of each situation." He smiled at her, "For now, I wish to take a shower, I feel unclean. You are welcome to join me, or not, as you decide. Tomorrow, we shall be forced to revert to the odious positions as master and slave, but for tonight, my dear, we are..."

She blinked, and did not notice when her... 'Not my master, not tonight,' she thought in wonder. 'Tonight, he is... he is... my... male, and I am his female...'.

------------------------

"The waist belt is welded on me, master, only the front can be unlocked," the girl said to her naked master, as she reached out to touch him.

"I said the term 'master' is offensive to me," Eddie said, as the girl smiled up at him. "I do apologize, 'Master'," she said with a grin. "Let me try to compensate you," and she took a better grip as water poured over them, and Eddie started to breathe deeply.

**------------------------  
Saturday, September 29, 2001:  
ε Orionis, WorkForce hotel, 16th floor, room 26a: 06:05 (relative)  
------------------------**

"Good morning, master," the girl said from atop him, as she kissed him.

"Thought... told you... call me master," he mumbled.

"That was last night, during our game, master, and a wonderful game it was. The star has risen, there is a new day, and we must revert to master and slave." She kissed his nose, "If master will move his right leg, I can remove myself and get you packed, so you will be ready to check out. Master's partner came in from next door, she has checked on your slaves, they have been sent to your ship. I informed her of what I knew of master's arrangements, she said she would prepare the ship." She wiggled a bit, "While this is a most pleasurable position, I cannot accomplish my tasks, master."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked.

"Master was exhausted, and rightly so," she grinned at him. "Let your wenches take care of you, master. That's a direct quote from your partner, she said I could use it." She wiggled a bit, "Your leg, master?"

------------------------


	6. Week Six, 7 – 13 October, 2001

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------   
6 – Week Six, 7 – 13 October, 2001, Fourth Year  
------------------------ **_  
Sunday, October 7, 1380: (Julian)  
London, The Strand, Bundy Estate: 17:11   
_**------------------------

Robert smiled and waved as the Reverend's carriage passed through the gate. Closing the door, he exhaled, then took a look at his wife, who was anxious to tell him something. "What is it, my love? What could you not tell me in front of our visitor?"

She smiled, "I found something you will love to see this morning when I went to stir up the fire. Come, I've hidden it in the kitchen."

She extracted a small bit of singed parchment from a cupboard, and with a mischievous smile, handed it to him. He read:

cember, 2001 #43

gw laroom 6, 2d floor

arest Mother and Father,

#ou receive this, please forward it to me with the exact time and location you ceived it through the Headmistress, lik ther letters. I love you nd miss you all!

M# #ove to all,

Ann

"Merciful God, thank you," Robert said as he sank into a chair.

His wife smiled, and said, "Turn it over," and he saw a small... painting... of a vast city, with text in white above that said 'London'. He smiled at his wife, "My dear, since you found it, perhaps you should be the one to reply."

"I've already started," she said, pulling over a scroll. "I thought you might like to add to it. Then we'll owl it to Professor Oldridge."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, October 7, 2001:  
In convoy, **The Query**, flight deck: 20:53 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"Their control chips _are_ off, Captain, the same as my own," Z'hann said.

"Then why aren't they snapping out of it?"

"Snapping out?" she wondered, then shook her head to continue, "Ma... Captain, I have no training in exo-psychology, the liner I served on had different staff than I for that." He nodded, and she continued, "Based on what I have read of the sales data, the program reinforces a desire to be pleasing, focusing it to an authority figure. In this case, the master. Please note I said 'master', not 'owner', which would reinforce the datum that Master Eddie's orders take precedence over Mistress L'jissa's. It is a defect in the program, if you note Six's response to orders from her ostensible 'owner', L'jissa."

"Please proceed," Eddie said, leaning forward as L'jissa listened from the helm.

Z'hann nodded, cleared her throat and consulted her notes, "My theory is that the program created a conditioned reflex. It rewards them by stimulating their pleasure centers when they engage in certain behaviors. Those behaviors are now ingrained habit, and are maintained, even though the program no longer rewards them. I believe they are rewarding themselves, although the condition is clearly more pronounced with Frax than with the twins." She cleared her throat, "In addition, Frax sees you as a substitute father figure, and believes she must make her 'father' happy."

"How am I like her father?" he asked.

"You are a strong, fully functional male figure who is in control of her life," she replied. "The three other males on board are slaves, and have been neutered, they do not factor in," she replied. "In addition, the program works best in a 'family' setting, which is the target market, that of a domicile with one or two family slaves, and reasonably kind owners, which fits your personality. It is not designed to work in a factory, for instance, but it would in a small shop that is owned by the slave's 'family'." She made a circular motion, "We constitute a 'family' of sorts, with you both the 'parents', and we the 'children'. This also explains why they are trying to persuade the other 'children' to modify our behavior, so that we are not 'punished' by you when our 'misbehavior' is noted. They are the 'good' daughters, you see, and we are the 'troublemakers', they are trying to 'rescue' us."

"Interesting," L'jissa said. "A clan behavior of sorts. I can see how it is applied, and how, since the slave has no objective chance of freedom, they would not include a deactivation or removal method." She stretched in her chair, arms leaning back, then said, "They missed an option, however. In a family or clan, when a daughter's mating to someone outside the clan is arranged, she goes to live with them. What happens to our slave when her ownership is transferred, when she is sold? The new 'father' may not wish it operating on his new 'daughter'." She regarded Eddie, "In truth, I almost prefer this side of the twins, they are cheerful, obedient, and think their collars are the greatest thing to happen to them. Better than their old surly, rebellious personalities."

"You don't have to live with them, Mistress," Z'hann replied. "They are convinced that all females need a collar, that if we were only obedient, we would be much happier. What is truly irritating is that they are doing their best to sell this to the others. They are even eager to accept a gag, as they believe it enhances their appearance, as do the bells hung from their nipples." Both women shuddered.

"How do we break this conditioning, then?" Eddie asked.

"Are you certain you wish to?" L'jissa asked. "Keep the twins as they are, possibly lower their enthusiasm, but the other two, Frax and Six, do seem more happy. In truth, they are slaves, they might as well accept it."

Eddie sighed, "It seems I must reveal part of my plan to you, although I would have your words that it will go no further. I cannot have this spread about at this point." The two girls nodded, Z'hann saying, "Of course, master."

"Very well," Eddie said. "My plan, once we arrive back at my home system, is for all of our slaves..."

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 8, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Headmistress' office: 20:49 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

As was her habit before retiring, Minerva pulled down the 1380 Headmaster's journal, flipping it open to that day. A flattened, folded scroll dropped into her lap, and she smiled to herself. '_Another letter for Miss Bundy, a bit thicker than normal_,' she mused. Setting it aside, she perused the day's entry:

_8 October, 1380_

_My dearest Minerva,  
I received today a letter for Miss Bundy from her parents. In their note to me, they desired me to inform you of the exact method and location of Miss Wayne's arrival, which I believe I have already done in this journal. From what the stable hands inform me, she arrived in a ball of golden fire about fifteen feet in the air, and thence dropped into the mud. The rest you will recall. _

_Oh, how I wish I could receive a note from you! Such a pity it is not possible!_

_Alberta_

Minerva closed the volume, setting the letter for Miss Bundy aside for the morrow, and opened the 2001 volume to begin her own entry.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, October 9, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 07:47 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Good morning, Miss Bundy," Minerva said. "I have a letter for you," she added, handing over the packet.

"Thank you," she replied politely, setting down her quill and saving her file. Breaking the wax seal, she sucked in her breath, "I hath done it. How, I know not, but I hath managed to send them a message."

Minerva paused, "Miss Bundy, you have managed to send a message to your family? May I see?"

"Aye," she said, handing over the postcard. "I doth not know what spell I used, but there hath been a series of experiments. How doth I define this problem..." she mused, then extracted another notebook from her bag, flipping to a fresh page where she started to scribble.

"Well, in that case I shall reserve..." Minerva glanced at the postcard again, "Classroom six on the second floor for your experiments." She handed it back, Sprink accepting it for Anne. "I will make a precondition that any messages cannot reveal the future to them, I am somewhat nervous about Miss Bundy using a picture-postcard."

"So am I," Miss Wayne said. "I don't know why she did, but I will ask, ma'am. She said she had already made arrangements to check any letters with her kin."

Minerva nodded in satisfaction. "I will make arrangements for Professor Croft to join you there this afternoon. For now, please make certain Miss Bundy has something to eat before your Herbology class?"

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, October 9, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Second floor, Classroom six: 13:12 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Sprink looked up at the knock, the Cortez twins asking, "We heard the most incredible thing, and we were wondering..."

"If thou might assist?" Anne asked. "Aye, there is a great deal of research that doth need done. 'Twould be appreciated."

"The first step is to define the problem, and then the environment we must operate in," Professor Croft said. "Time is one of the fundamental, quantifiable aspects of the world, such as distance, velocity, mass, momentum, energy, and weight, and units are used to describe their measure." She paced, thinking aloud, "Every other physical quantity can be generated from them." She glanced at Anne, who was immersed in her laptop, "Such as gravity. The traditional fundamentals are mass, length, time, and temperature, but in principle, other fundamental quantities could be used, such as electrical charge."

"Want a summer job?" Miss Wayne said from where she was sorting books with Sprink and her aunt Narcissa. She checked a card in her pocket, then cast a spell on a book.

"Newton said that time was linear, like a stream," one of the twins said. "Your experiences seem to bear that out. Hmm..." she mused, as Charlie and Arthur came in. "I wonder if there's a spell to view the time stream, and measure the temporal flow..." She spun her laptop around, booting it as Arthur said, "There's a stasis spell, which keeps things like potion ingredients fresh. I wonder how that works..."

"Didn't I hear something about a Ministry device that diddled time?" Charlie asked.

"There is..." Professor Croft said slowly. "However, it's only good for a few hours, and it's very secret, we don't know anything about it. We're working with a much longer scale of centuries, I don't think it would apply."

"Still, that might have military applications..." Mattie mused, as Sprink blew the dust off one thick tome, and she sneezed. "Sorry," Sprink apologized, as her aunt Bellatrix came in, with several large tomes floating behind her.

"Need a hand?" Charlie asked, reaching for a tome.

Sprink reached out and knocked his arm away, "You're not Slytherin, luv, let us remove the protective spells first."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, October 10, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Transfiguration: 09:10 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Right..." Professor Chang looked up at her class, and said, "Let's proceed on, shall we? Knitting needles to sewing needles, now everyone..."

"Professor?" Anna asked, "Could you tell us about last year? We heard something about time travel, and..."

"You were wondering how Miss Wayne arrived with a starship and Miss Bundy from the 14th century?" The petite Chinese professor considered, then put down her textbook, smoothing her skirt as she boosted herself to sit on the end of the table. "All right, it is a marvelous tale, and we are a bit ahead of schedule." Crossing her ankles, they swung back and forth as she said, "It started on last year's train, where Miss Malfoy hexed Miss Wayne in the loo..."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, October 10, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Staffroom: 09:56 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Good morning, Ms. Hawking, Miss Wayne," Narcissa said, holding the door open. "Please come in, Mr. Griplink and..." her lips tightened slightly, "... the elves are here with their solicitor."

------------------------

"Really, I don't see what the problem is," Sheila said. "The elves are employees, drawing a wage, just like the wizards. A guest renting a room has no more right to beat an elf than they do a wizard. Not only is it contract law in the rental agreement they signed, it's a subset of criminal and employment law, people have a right not to be assaulted at their workplace."

"It's very simple," Mattie continued. "If a guest orders a drink, for instance, and is not happy, we replace or remix the drink. They don't beat the bartender. If a guest is not happy with the elf, we assign a new elf. If they try to beat the elf, the elf simply moves away, and reports the guest for attempted assault. At that point, the hotel management becomes involved, and asks the guest to leave."

"But... but..." Narcissa spluttered, "Do they all dress like... that?" and she pointed to Dobby, who was wearing his usual dozen hats, and a tastefully mismatched orange plaid kilt.

"Of course not," Mattie replied. "They wear the same uniform as the wizarding employees, only sized down a bit. A uniform is part of the contract Malfoy Estates, Ltd. is signing with the Elf Council. An employee uniform is part of your marketing package, and is also part of the benefits package provided to all your employees." She tented her fingers, leaning across the conference table, and repeating, "... ALL your employees."

"You're really serious?" Narcissa said, before her solicitor could interrupt.

"Yes, we are," the elves solicitor (a goblin) said. "Besides being good business, good treatment of employees means guests are treated better, which causes more repeat business. It is also," he warned, "a deal-breaker."

"Where else would you go?" Narcissa asked.

"Sochi on the Black Sea is interested, and is offering some very nice terms," Sheila said. "As is Corsica, and the Japanese are always interested in doing business, as are the Filipinos and Taiwan. Then of course there's Central America and Cuba, which does have that wonderful tropical climate. Shall I go on?" she asked with a smile.

------------------------  
**_Friday, October 12, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff corridor: 20:48 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Oh... dammit!"

"Julie?" Bill asked his sister. "Um, this is the Hufflepuff corridor, why..."

"Oh, Bill, I need to see Arthur, and this stupid door won't open!" she kicked the inoffensive door.

"Because you don't know the password," one of Bill's year mates said, as he drew his sister off. "Come along, you can come in," he said as he held the door for her.

------------------------

Bill rapped once on the door frame, Arthur looked up from the essay he was writing on his laptop, his feet propped on the bed, "Julie! This is a surprise, what can I do for you?" He asked as he saved the file, turning to set the computer on his desk, his stocking feet silent on the stone floor as he padded over to his sister.

Bill closed the door as she looked about the room, in a lot of ways like her own dorm room. He had a framed family picture on his desk, a smaller photo of Mattie in a silver frame, his lucky baseball and a Philadelphia Phillies poster on the wall. Surprisingly, it didn't seem out of place with the Quidditch and soccer posters his dorm-mates had hung on the wall. The blankets and bed hangings were yellow instead of the red in her own dorm, and instead of the bottles of makeup and tights in a girl's dorm, there were piles of laundry that hadn't been put away, and the odd sock peeking from under a bed.

Arthur pulled his tie off, tossing it to Bill, "Put that on the doorknob, would you? Thanks." He sat his sister on his chair, asking, "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, Arthur, I've been hexed, and I can't fix it, and I'm too embarrassed to go to the infirmary..." she sniffled, pulling off the woolen stocking cap to reveal an enormous white zit on her head.

"That's a big one," Bill said, it covered most of the top of her head. He added, "Let me get some towels, we'll get you fixed up."

"Thanks," she sniffled as her big brother gave her a hug.

------------------------

"So how did this happen?" Arthur asked as he drained the zit, a bath towel tucked into his sister's shirt collar and covering her shoulders.

"I don't know, but it must have been a Slythie," she replied, "This is just the kind of thing they do."

"Their pranks are a lot more subtle," Arthur disagreed. "Where's your evidence? This looks more like a spell or potion gone wrong. Have you changed your shampoo recently?"

"Well..." his sister hesitated, "I ran out, so I did kinda borrow..."

"And you mixed a bunch of different ones," Bill said, familiar with his sister's habits. "I've got a spare bottle of shampoo. Arthur, can you pick up some when you go to London?"

"I don't go that often," he said. "I'll ask Mattie if she can pick up a bottle of what she uses when she goes on Tuesday."

"I don't want to smell like your girlfriend," she objected weakly.

"You won't," he said. "You'll smell like my sister." He finished working on the problem, telling her, "Go use my shower and wash your hair while Bill gets his bottle of shampoo." He waved, "Go on, we'll watch the door, and we can sit and talk for a few minutes to catch up."

------------------------

"Now then," Arthur told his sister, "in return for fixing your problem, I get to lecture you. What have we learned from this?"

"Don't mix muggle and wizard," she said as she used his hairbrush.

"On the same problem," he clarified. "The potion you use for your legs and armpits is the same I use instead of shaving, because it gives a better result than the charm. My skin's softer." He massaged his chin, glaring at Bill, "No comments from the peanut gallery, now."

"Hey, I don't argue with what works," he said, raising his hands. "When can I make it?"

"Second year, but it takes two weeks," Arthur replied. "For the same reason, I prefer muggle shampoo, because it gives a better result, and it's more thoroughly tested. Some wizarding stuff seems to sell because it's the only thing on the market, and it has a brewer's reputation behind it. I'd buy stuff from Blaise' shop, because Hermione Granger has an excellent reputation, and they license stuff from Professor Snape."

"And you're as lazy as anyone else, you don't want to spend two weeks stirring a cauldron of hair-removal potion," his sister added. "Professor Snape, despite his rather ... um..."

"Despite that, he's a top-notch potion master," Arthur said. "He's unpleasant, but he knows his stuff. Now then," he asked his sister, "Any particular brand of shampoo you want, or should I just ask Mattie to get a bottle of hers?"

------------------------  
**_Saturday, October 13, 2001:  
Hogwarts: 07:04 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Actually, I was going to go there today," Mattie said, as she slowed down to jog with Arthur toward the Quidditch pitch, cooling down after her run. "I've got some stuff to do I won't be able to do next week with the marathon, so if you guys wanna come, check with Sprout and Potter."

"'Kay," he said, "How's your time doing?"

"Better, I'm down to a 2:46 pace for the full marathon, 1:22 for the half," she said, giving him a smile, and slowing to a walk. Mopping her face, "I think I'll do better in London, not so many hills as Scotland." She slung her towel over her shoulder, adding, "A girl in Bristol just finished a half-marathon in 1:06:47 last Sunday. She missed the world record by just _three seconds_!" She glanced at his expression of polite interest and snorted, "I'm going to grab a shower, see if Amy or Sprink is going in to Greywolf. I think they've got their simulator up."

------------------------

"Possibly," Professor Harry said as he put down his fork. "Miss Wayne, Miss Tonks, Miss Bundy and Miss Johnson copy Severus and Filius when they email in their homework. If you wish to go, you will do the same for Professor Sprout and I."

"In addition," Pomona said, "You will be visiting an office, you will look presentable. Miss Morton, a nicer blouse. Mr. Morton," she favored Bill with a look, "jeans and a t-shirt with a rip in the back is not acceptable. I do not expect a business suit, but a collared shirt and new jeans would be agreeable. I would suggest you update your wardrobes when you go today."

"We can go?" Bill said excitedly.

"You said you were current through Wednesday's classes, therefore you will email us copies of your homework, and change clothes before you go," Pomona said. "In addition, Mr. Morton," she told Bill, "I do not want you wandering around London by yourself. You will stay with either your brother or sister, is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Bill said.

Pomona nodded in agreement. "Eight o'clock in the entrance hall, then. You've got..." she looked at the clock across the Great Hall, "thirteen minutes, so shoo!"

------------------------

"He's not coming?" Mattie asked Bill quietly, her eyes narrowed slightly.

He swallowed, then nervously added, "No, there's something about Arrowhead he disagrees with." He raised his hands, "Not me, I'm cool with it. Arthur, though..."

"Yes, Arthur, though..." she added, then flashed a quick smile at him, "I'm sorry, Bill. I'm not mad at you, just your pigheaded brother. This was going to be a big day for Anne, the filing of her first patents, her first scientific paper, I was hoping to celebrate, but..."

"Well, I'll do the best I can to pinch-hit, then," he added quietly.

------------------------


	7. Week Seven, 14 – 20 October, 2001

------------------------

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
7 – Week Seven, 14 – 20 October, 2001, Fourth Year  
------------------------**_  
Sunday, October 14, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff dorms: 06:35   
_**------------------------

"Arthur?" Bill asked as he knocked on the door, and his friend Charlie said, "He's in the shower," as he tied his trainers. "Anything we can do?"

"Well... maybe some advice," Bill said, taking his brother's chair. "We went to London yesterday with Mattie and Anne, you were there."

"Yes, had a marvelous time with the simulator in Greywolf, didn't do as well as you though," Charlie said. "I wondered where Arthur was, but didn't get a chance to ask."

"Arthur has issues of some sort with Arrowhead," Bill began, when Arthur came out, adding, "I have issues relating to Cuba, you should know that." he told his brother. He gave himself a final scrub with the towel, then folded it casually and dropped it on his laundry pile at the foot of his bed. He pulled out a fresh shirt and socks, sitting on his bed in his boxers.

"You and dad have issues about that," Bill said. "You're the only ones in the family that do, and while I can see dad holding that opinion, I'm still wondering why you do." He raised his hand to forestall his brother's reply, "No need to beat a dead horse, we've gone round about it until I'm sick of it. I'm just here to say that you disappointed Mattie and Anne yesterday, and pretty much was a wet blanket for a big day in Anne's life. I'm giving you a warning because you're my brother, and I think you're being an even bigger... no, an even more thickheaded idiot than you have before." He crossed his arms, glaring at his brother, "I've said my bit, we're not going to convince each other, so I'll take my leave." He nodded at Charlie and the others, "Sorry you had to hear that. Have a good day, guys."

"So, what was it?" Charlie asked after Bill had gone.

"It's political, and I don't want to talk about it," Arthur said, pulling his socks on.

"POLITICAL?" Charlie asked. "Mate, my dad's a solid Thatcherite, I'm a bloody liberal, but we're still family. You don't blow off family for some sort of political nonsense, and Anne is _family_." He stood, tossing Arthur's jeans next to him on the bed, "I'll see you in the Great Hall, mate."

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 15, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall: 12:05   
_**------------------------

"Arthur, can I have a minute?"

He looked over to see Mattie waiting for him as he came down the stairs from his Arithmancy class. "Sure. How'd you get here so fast from History?"

She smiled slightly, "I ran. I'm good at that, you know." She slid a hand into his elbow, "Walk with me, please. I had a question for you."

He held the front door open for her, as they walked toward the lake, he asked, "Is this about the thing with Anne Saturday?"

"Partially. I'd also like to know what your thing about Arrowhead is. You know I'm not going to restructure the entire thing just to satisfy whatever your complaint is." She walked in silence for a minute, then looked up at him, "Unless your complaint is something that no one else has seen. I'm trying to keep an open mind, here."

"Fair enough," he said, stopping at a bench by the lake. He wrinkled his nose at the bird droppings, casting '_Scourgify_' to clean them off, she nodded in thanks, smoothing her skirt and sat as he dropped his bag at the other end. Pacing a bit, he continued, "When you invited me, you didn't say this was anything special, just a routine trip to London, I thought. Honestly, I was not looking forward to twiddling my thumbs while you and Anne had long business meetings, or having my sister drag me through lingerie shops, and I had reading and homework to catch up on."

"That's part of the fun of shopping with one of you males, embarrassing you," she teased. "Lingerie is different from underwear, there's a lot more lace and satin, and..."

Arthur clamped his hands over his ears, "Too much information! I don't need to know this! La, la, la, I'm not hearing this!"

Mattie giggled, "All right, I'll spare you the details." He exhaled, sitting next to her, and she leaned forward, whispering in a sexy voice, "_Brassiere..._" He eep'd and started away, and she said with a grin, "All right, I've had my fun. Coward. I won't describe what Anne wears..." He glared at her as she continued, "I tend to forget that not everyone knows everything that's going on, my meetings aren't that long, and they're usually during the week. This was a fun outing, playing with Greywolf's new simulator and going out for lunch." She looked up at him, "Did you know that Anne loves mushrooms and pineapple on her pizza? I mean carpeting the pie with them, she thinks pizza is the greatest invention of the modern era." She shuddered delicately, "She can have my 'shrooms, and my pickles, thank you very much. In any case, I should have given you better information. My bad, sorry."

"Okay, I'll talk to Anne," Arthur said, as he paced. He did that for a minute, "My problem with Arrowhead is that you're giving advanced technology to a dictator," and he glanced over his shoulder at her, "Your _Uncle_ Fidel."

"Ah," she said, pulling up her left leg and hugging it, resting her chin on it. "You know, the Americans seem to be the only ones still interested in an embargo against Cuba, and that's primarily driven by the exiles in south Florida. I know your dad served in the Navy during that period." She looked up at him as he paced, "The Queen has met him, I've met him, I've looked him in the eye, and I think I'm a fairly good judge of character. I asked him for his side of that story, the Cuban Missile Crisis, you've only got the one side of that story. I think you're believing the propaganda."

"It's not about 1962, but 1959," he replied. "I worry about the repression of civil liberties under his regime, and you should know about the difference between a public and a private persona." He paced a bit more, "Next, you get along with Castro so well because you're a lot more alike than I think you realize. You're both extremely driven, highly competent and you're both natural leaders. You're both comfortable with power and with wielding it, despite some of the results. You're both perfectly charming when that suits your purposes and absolutely ruthless whenever... well whenever. And before you object to that last one, I have two words for you: Leftenant Martin. Put it all together and you have more in common with him than you do with me."

"I'm not dating Uncle Fidel, though."

"Sometimes I wonder why you're dating me," he said. "Because I'm not driven, only reasonably competent, not a natural follower or leader, uncomfortable with power but pretty good with what I do have. I apparently have the charm of cold oatmeal (she chuckled), and am absolutely ruthless only on special occasions."

"Special enough for me," she said with a smile. "You'll have to trust me that I have good reasons for working with Cuba, besides the fact that I don't agree with the embargo." She shifted on the bench, "Charlie mentioned that a while ago. The 'Princess and the Pauper' syndrome, you wonder what you bring to the table. Objectively, you and I are nothing alike. Let me see if I can explain this," she said, looking at the lake.

She was silent for a minute, then reached out as he awkwardly sat next to her, taking his left hand with her right, "You keep me grounded. You're comfortable, I don't have to be 'on stage' all the time, I can relax with you because you're family, you're like a really comfortable pair of shoes, or being able to walk about barefoot. You're competent enough to get the job done, you're warm enough to me, and you're ruthless enough to tell me off." She turned a bit, "Ever wonder why my dad was on the JLA?"

He finger-quoted, "World's greatest detective?"

"He was their conscience, he reminded them of why they were there, and who they were protecting. He had ways of taking every single one of them out, just like I do. Not just Superman's kryptonite ring, but other methods." She looked him in the eye, "You're my Bat. I trust you to take me out, all the way out if necessary. Quite honestly, right now, I could easily destroy this planet, and that scares the hell out of me. Superman is my public Bat, you're the real one."

------------------------

As they walked back, she asked, "What are you going to say to Uncle Fidel when you meet him?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Quidditch tournament in April. His nephew is a fifth-year at Azteca, and he would really like to meet you."

"I don't know..." he said. "I'll think about it, but I'll at least be polite to him."

"Good enough for now," she replied.

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, October 16, 2001:  
In convoy, **The Query**, flight deck: 00:35 (relative)   
**_------------------------

"_Query_ to Convoy Command," Two said into the helm comm.

"This is Convoy Command, Query," a young comm officer said from the screen. He stifled a yawn, "Quiet shift, slave, how are things?"

"Quiet shift to you also, master," she replied with a smile. "Just calling to remind you that we're scheduled to leave the convoy for Beneece Secundus in a few minutes, and Mistress wanted me to ask about our getting copies of the local hazard charts. Do we have enough tungsten on account?"

"Think so," he mumbled, looking at his terminal. He was silent for a minute as he worked, "Transferring the local charts to you, and..." he made a grand gesture, "...refunding the balance." He looked at her, "I need to know your slave number for my records, the last five will do."

"One moment, master," she replied as she locked her console and stood, walking to the comm console with a slither of ankle chain. She touched controls, looked up, "I'm receiving, master, and my number is 74682." She walked back to her station, her long hair cascading around her.

"I like your hair," he commented, "When I get leave, I'll rent a slave like you."

"Thank you, master," she said with a smile. "It's too bad you're all the way over there, we could have some fun." She lifted her floor-length hair away from her neck, shaking it out, "Some of the slaves came back from the WorkForce convention with this long hair, and a modified waste plug, so Master gave his permission for us to get the same." She turned, the hair falling away from her back as she leaned over the console, "Personally, master, I like the modifications to my front the best," rolling over and bouncing a bit, the chains going from a welded neck ring from her belled nipples.

"Slave, I'm going to have trouble finishing my duties," he growled at her, then smiled, "Because I'm thinking of you."

"This slave apologizes, master," she said, head down. "She will punish herself tonight when she is locked in her cell, dreaming of being the slave of a strong, handsome master that looks quite a lot like master does," and looked up through her hair at him with a grin.

"Slave..." he growled again.

"I am sorry, master, I am a slave, designed and bred for a master's collar, it is all I have ever known," she pouted when her console beeped, and she scampered around the console to take her place. Unlocking her console, she brushed her hair back with her left hand, and smiled, "Master, it is time for us to depart. I wish you fair space and Source travel with you."

"Source be with you, slave, there are reports of pirates around here. Tell your master to keep his shields up and weapons hot. I'll authorize you now," he said in reply, then signed off. The moving starfield reappeared, and she confirmed her course, locking it in as she warmed up the shields and weapons.

Reaching down, she moved the seat forward, folding her legs under her as she waited, her left hand idly running along the chain from the steel ring welded around her neck to the metal implanted in her nipple, the small bell on its ring, the only sound the chiming of the bells as she breathed. Her left hand wandered along her smooth, hairless leg, down her thigh, stopping briefly at the old scar on her left hip where her implant had been placed many years ago, the one that declared her slave as much as her collar. Her fingers moved back up, past the knee, down her calf to her ankle. She gazed at the moving starfield, as she touched the cool metal, her fingers on the top of the steel band.

She smiled softly, '_Master does have some strange ideas_,' she mused. '_He just needs a bit of ... guidance ... when it comes to slaves, and who better to instruct him than his slaves_?' She remembered the argument Master had with Mistress, Two and her sisters Eight and Z'hann. '_Poor Master was completely outclassed_,' she thought with a grin, as the status lights changed for the weapons and shields, she touched her comm, "Mistress? I am sorry to wake you, but you wished me to call you instead of Master. We have changed course, and I have the new charts. The convoy reports pirate activity, can you come forward?"

------------------------

"Fair day, Mistress," she told L'jissa as she came in, her brown hair messily pulled back and secured with a bit of string, barefoot, topless and wearing a short skirt, a command rod thrust in the waistband.

L'jissa yawned, nodded, and moved to the replicator, asking, "Tea?"

"Please, Mistress," Two replied, as she called up the first hazard chart on her screen. She nodded in thanks, sipping it as Mistress moved to the comm position, calling up the conversation she had just had.

They both quietly studied their screens for a few moments, before L'jissa stood, inserting the command rod into a socket on the console and twisting it 90 degrees. A console rose into position on Two's right, unlocking and coming online as L'jissa said, "Computer, record ship's log entry, this date and time." It beeped as she continued, "A credible warning of pirate activity has been received, therefore, I, first officer of this vessel do authorize the slaves 74682, 73926 and 94383 with duty on the flight deck to engage hostile vessels upon their own initiative and judgment. For this reason, I am releasing to them command rod number three, which they will surrender to their relief if one of the above named slaves, or to either the Captain or myself upon demand. End log entry." The computer beeped again, and she sat in the command chair, adding, "My brain wasn't turned off when I wore a slave collar, I don't see why yours wouldn't have been turned _on_ when you were collared." She waved at the air, "This gives you legal protection, you're following the orders of a free person, and you make a log entry at the end of your shift." Two nodded, L'jissa saying, "I'll brief the other two in, and that fellow on the other end of the comm..."

Two licked her lips, saying, "I certainly wouldn't mind being owned by him, Mistress."

"Oh, I _do_ agree," L'jissa said with a grin, "You slave girls have an advantage over your free sisters, even if you're wearing a chain." She raised an eyebrow, "I thought we left you the key, the chains were just for show."

Two cocked her head, "I know, Mistress, but this is a good pair of shackles, and I want to keep them for myself, they're comfortable. How do I have an advantage, Mistress?" she asked as she shifted so she could arrange her feet differently.

"You don't have to spend time deciding what to wear in the morning, you're already locked into it," L'jissa said with a grin as she sat in the command chair. She took a sip of tea, "What is a 'good' pair of shackles?"

Two pulled gently at an ankle chain, "If Frax were in her original mind, she would probably say this was a 'born slave thing', if I have the syntax correct." She took a sip of her own tea, setting the mug down, "You were born free, Mistress, but as a slave, I can appreciate a good set of shackles when I wear them." She ran a finger around the cuff, "I like these, Mistress. The edges are nice and smooth so my skin isn't abraded, the welds holding the hinges and the chain are strong and don't wiggle, so if I'm hung by my ankles I don't have any fear of falling, and the lock is strong, but works smoothly, so it won't come apart, which has happened to slaves that are just hung with a chain and padlock." She turned, putting her feet down, the chain falling off the chair in a rustling whisper. Picking up her tea again, she asked, "How is Master Eddie?"

"Still asleep," L'jissa replied. "He needs it, although Z'hann had to give him something to help. I think he still believes he can get what he wants by his rules, he did not want to... what did he call it... 'lock you down again'."

"We're enhanced slaves, we have to dress and act the part," Two said with a gesture of dismissal. "The information we have is the planet, um..."

"Windfall is what they call it," L'jissa said. "Tropical planet, at least the marketing pictures were a tropical location." She gestured, "You lot are lucky, collars and belts, but I have to wear a shipsuit. I'm going to fracking melt!"

"Poor Mistress," she was teased. "I'm of two thoughts on this, Mistress," Two continued, taking a sip of tea. "I prefer the improvement of the twins', and now that the rest of the slaves are also 'behaving' properly, they have returned to their previous attitude."

"Yes, they are a lot more cheerful," L'jissa admitted, sitting back in the command chair. "What bothers Captain Eddie the most is the mind control, he would prefer you were all free and able to think for yourself." She took a sip of tea, adding, "He still blames himself for Frax's collaring, and the enhancement of Z'hann and Frax. He thinks they're some sort of machine, instead of a living, breathing slave."

"You said it yourself, Mistress, we're slaves," Two said cheerfully. "I don't think they have slavery on Master's home world, I'll have to ask Frax, she's from there. "She shifted, standing partially to free her hair from underneath her, pulling it in front of her, "What do they do with their criminals, who does the routine work, does the average family not have a house slave to cook and clean?" She fingered her collar, "I'm an enhanced slave, I've already been rescued by Master when he bought me, I owe him my life. Mistress, I wouldn't know what to do if I were freed, how would I eat, where would I sleep, how would I pay for it?" She shuddered.

"The enhancement forces you to behave a certain way, though," L'jissa said.

"This is true, Mistress, and forces a particular pattern of speech on us," Two agreed. "We discussed this in the cell, Z'hann said that for her, it was like her service aboard the liner. She wore a uniform, and needed to address her superiors a certain way. Frax said the military services did the same, and that you could not leave when you wished, as you were under orders, and that you had signed a contract." She twisted her hands, "I was born into this service, Mistress, and my uniform is a collar and slave belt. I do think for myself, as you notice, Mistress," she gave a sly grin, "Neither one of us is wearing Master's tunic."

"I've always thought his preference of females being clothed all the time was silly," L'jissa said as she rose. "Still, we're his females, we try to make him happy. More tea?" Two glanced in her mug, shook her head as L'jissa stretched. "I'm going back to bed. Quiet shift to you."

"Sleep well, Mistress," Two said, and turned back to her chart as L'jissa left.

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, October 16, 2001:  
The** Query**, flight deck: 05:55 (relative)   
**_------------------------

Frax entered the flight deck, yawning and pulling her white-blonde hair forward, letting it drape down her front. "Quiet shift?" she asked as she stopped to get a cup of tea. She motioned, "Would you like one?"

"No, thank you," Two replied. "We left the convoy on schedule, they warned us of pirate activity. You'll need to view the record of the conversation I had, Mistress left us orders in the log."

"Master?" Frax asked as she sat at the comm station.

"Still asleep is what Mistress said," Two replied. "This hair looks nice, and pleases masters, but it gets in the way."

"Difficult to keep clean and neat, but Master likes it, and that's what matters," Frax agreed as she listened to the orders through her ear bug. "Weapons?" she whispered, paling in shock, "I'm supposed to fire at masters? I'm a slave, I can't..." She shuddered, pulling the ear bug out, twitching, "I can't, I'm a slave, we're slaves, we can't... we aren't allowed... weapons, I can't..." She crumpled to the deck, "Slave... I can't... a master..." curling into a fetal position, her hands went behind her as she cuffed herself, whimpering, "Can't... masters... slave..."

"Oh, Source," Two whispered as she saw the shuddering slave, crying and trying to push herself into the steel deck plates. She thought for a minute, then slid open a compartment, extracting a small, thin key on a ring, and unlocked her ankle chains. "Frax?" she asked, she was ignored by the crying, shuddering slave, who was now trying to force her wrist cuffs tighter by lying on them. "94383?" she tried, then trying to put a bit of command in her voice, she said, "Slave! You are negligent in your duties! Come over here!"

Frax whimpered, scrambling to kneel before Two, head down and forehead touching the deck, "Mistress, this slave apologizes for her behavior ..."

"I am not pleased, slave, you are late in assuming your post, and you have disputed Mistress' orders. I will be reporting this to her, and an entry will go in the ship's log regarding your behavior," Two said harshly, logging out of her board. Standing, she said, "Slave, stand before your board, you will perform your Mistress' orders." As Frax took her place, Two knelt, wrapping the ankle chain around the seat's pedestal base, moving it forward and turning it so the seat back trapped Frax between it and the console, then locking the chain in place on Frax's ankles. Moving to a supply drawer, she extracted two items, then released Frax's wrists from her slave belt. Shoving the most uncomfortable gag she could find in her sister slave's mouth, she locked it, then a set of wrist shackles. "Log in to your board, slave," she told Frax coldly. As she awkwardly did so, Two addressed the ceiling, "Computer, continue log entry, this date and time." It beeped, "Continuing log entry. Slave 94383 relieved this slave, and was reluctant to perform her duties as Mistress has specified. Because of this, she was late in relieving this slave. I have ordered the disobedient slave 94383 to perform her shift standing, gagged and chained in place as punishment. Other disciplinary actions for slave 94383 will await our Master. I have released to her control rod three per Mistress' orders, slave 94383 will likely have contact, she will open a channel when this occurs." She turned to Frax, "Slave 94383, do you understand this log entry, and your orders?" The blonde slave whimpered once in acknowledgement, and Two said, "Slave, I stand relieved. End log entry."

Picking up Frax's untouched tea, Two recycled it as she left the flight deck, leaving the blonde standing alone in front of her panel on the silent flight deck.

------------------------

Crossing into the Beneece Secundus system, 94383 dropped out of jump space, bringing up the in-system subspace drive. Changing course to head for the marked channel buoy, she noticed an asteroid in her plotted course that wasn't on the hazard chart, and touched the helm to avoid it. She frowned at another one that wasn't listed in her chart and moved to avoid it. Changing course again, she looked at the hazard chart, and sighed to herself, '_This will be a long shift_', she thought.

------------------------

Finally clearing the system's outer asteroid belt, the _Query_ entered free space. '_I'm glad to be out of the asteroids_,' the slave thought, '_Master will be so happy, although I wonder... maybe he wants to buy a license for all his slaves, so they can be as happy and fulfilled as I am_,' she thought. '_That's what Mistress Wayne needs, a collar and a good Master, she wouldn't be so angry all the time. Females are supposed to obey, not command, but..._' she blinked, her thoughts slithering to a stop, '_What about my roomie Liz, though? When we played, she never liked it when I wanted her to..._' A flashing light on the comm panel drew her attention, and she keyed it, opening a channel.

"Thank you for answering, slave," the handsome master told her, "By yourself this shift, are you?" She nodded, "Excellent. Are you enhanced?" She nodded again, "Good. You will obey, you will follow my orders, we've a bit of a problem and your Master will be pleased. First, you will slow, we'll match courses with you. We need your aid, slave, and your Master will be very happy with you."

'_Obey... follow orders... please Master... happy Master_,' she heard, and slowed the ship. "Very good, slave, very obedient. Is this the sleep shift?" and she nodded again. "Excellent. Are you a slave ship with a cargo?" She nodded, and he said, "You're an excellent slave, you're worth a lot of tungsten. You're a very obedient slave, a Happy Slave, aren't you?" She smiled to herself, hearing the phrases '_Excellent slave... worth a lot... obedient slave... Happy Slave..._' The master smiled at her, "I see you're gagged, slave, are you also chained at your post?" She nodded, raising her wrist shackles so he could see. "Excellent. Pull your wrists behind you, and cuff yourself. I want to see that chain around your lovely waist, slave. You're an obedient slave, I want you in my cells, slave, don't you want to belong to me?" She whimpered, pulling the chain taut across her belly, struggling to cuff herself, to obey. Shoving the chair, she rotated it so she could turn, bending over the chair, showing her cuffed wrists.

"Excellent, you're a very obedient slave, a very good slave, you'll make me a good bit of tungsten when I sell you, slave. We're almost there, as a reward for your obedience, prop your breasts over the back of the chair, so I can see your hands. Just think, soon I'll have killed your current owner, and you'll belong to me. I'll be much kinder to you slaves, until I sell you."

As she twisted, arranging herself to obey, to show her shackled hands, she thought in fear, '_Kill my Master? He's going to sell me? I'm a slave, slaves are sold... I don't want to be sold, I don't want Master to die... I'm a slave, what can I do? I can't... I ... the ship... pirates... I was ordered to bind my hands... the master must be obeyed; he's going to sell me... I don't want to be sold... I'm slave, I'm gagged and bound, I cannot break position, what can I do_?'

"Very good, slave, you're a very obedient slave, are you happy with your slavery?" She nodded, and he said, "Just a few more kilometers, then some friends of mine will be boarding you, and you'll belong to me. I've talked to a lot of slaves in your position, I like your hair, and your waste plug, I'm going to have that done to all my slaves when I own you. It makes you more salable, it makes more tungsten for me. Does the hair tickle you, excite you?" She nodded again, and he said, "Squirm about, slave, I want to see you move, before you go on the sales block. Dance, slave, dance!"

Obediently, Frax started to squirm, and fell against the weapons console. At a distance of 150 kilometers, the _Query's_ guns fired on full automatic.

------------------------

"Wake up, Frax, you took a nasty hit," Z'hann said. Her patient groaned, putting her hand to her head, and was intercepted. "I can't have you dying on me, who would change the lights on my collar?"

"The ship?"

"We're fine, you blew a shuttle and the back third of the pirate to small pieces," L'jissa said. "The Captain's evacuating the last few surviving slaves on the pirate, the crew can suck vacuum once their batteries give out. We'll tell the planet about the pirates operating in their space, our fee is the title to the pirate's slaves." She crossed her arms as she leaned against the bulkhead, "I reviewed the logs, you're not normally that clumsy."

"I didn't want to be sold, or for Cap'n Eddie to die." She saw Z'hann and L'jissa trade looks, and asked, "What? What did I say?"

"Think carefully of what you just said," Z'hann said with a small smile. Frax blinked, then said slowly, "You changed ... you enabled my account."

L'jissa nodded, "What do you think of slavery now?"

"It sucks being a slave," Frax said with a grimace. She blinked rapidly, "Wait a minute... What about Six, and the twins?" L'jissa shook her head. "Crap."

"Tell her?" Z'hann asked, and L'jissa nodded. "The Captain authorized us to tell you his plan, and the actual status. For instance, Z'hann has been playing slave, she was freed a while ago and was monitoring you four..." Frax leaned forward, face in her hands, "I feel so _stupid_..."

"You were operating under a program's control, we think the conflict and mental trauma you went through is what broke it," Z'hann said. "You are not responsible for your actions, however, I wish to get a full backup of your programming before you step foot on that planet. We still need to disable or remove the program from you, and do not wish to run the chance of it being re-enabled."

"Oh, yes," Frax nodded emphatically. "I would cheerfully co-operate in my own execution with that program running, as long as Master Eddie was the one doing it." She looked at L'jissa, "I assume you want me to play enhanced slave on the planet. How can I help?"

The three of them looked up as they heard some clanking noises. "That's the airlock, with the Captain and Eight," L'jissa said. "Is she fit for duty?"

"For now," Z'hann said.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, October 16, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin table: 12:09 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

"Hmm," Sprink said, looking up from her laptop. "You get a note from Flitwick about a meeting on Thursday afternoon?" she asked Mattie.

She put down her fried chicken, and wiped her fingers and mouth with her napkin before answering, "No, I got one from Professor Snape, but it's for the third floor, Flitwick's classroom, at quarter after six."

"I hath also received one from Professor Flitwick," Anne said, looking up from her fish. "Thou doth not know either?" she asked, getting head shakes.

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, October 17, 2001:  
Windfall orbit, **The Query**, flight deck: 13:05: (relative)   
**_------------------------

"Any notice of us?"

"No, Master," Frax said from the comm station.

Edward Nigma waved at Frax, "Open a channel to the station, please."

"Hailing frequencies open, Master," she said with a grin.

"You've been waiting a long time to say that, haven't you?" he asked with a glower.

"Of course, Master, and you still owe me a red dress," she said, and frowned. "They're not answering," and threw the image of a empty workstation up on the screen. There was the remnants of a meal and a mug sitting there, a wisp of steam could still be seen from the mug. She touched a control, and they heard a chime, a young man came into the screen, zipping his jumpsuit, "Yes, Miko, I'm here, can't someone go to ..." He paused, blinking, "You're not Miko."

"Hardly," Eddie drawled. "You should be grateful I am not your commander, either. I wish to secure an appointment with the proprietors of 'Happy Slave', whom I believe are located on this planet."

"You're from ... outside. From the galaxy..." He blinked rapidly, "You want to land?"

"That is the normal course of events when visiting a planet, yes," Eddie said, and the screen blanked, replaced with the image of the planet, a small space station orbiting it, with a small light blue warship docked to it.

"I don't think they get much traffic," Two said dryly from the helm. Frax snorted, "You think?" She touched her earbud, "They're back. Time for Master and slaves, Act Two."

"Indeed," Eddie said, "Please accept the call," and the screen showed a older man, adjusting his jumpsuit as he bent over the chair, back to the camera.

Eddie cleared his throat, and he jumped, spinning around and catching himself. "Very funny, Miko," he said, glaring off screen. "I heard we had a visitor," he said, and he leaned forward, "You've got slaves with you."

"Yes, I am a slaver, and you've pirates in your outer system," Eddie replied. "I've taken care of one group, taking claim to their surviving slaves. The rest of the rubbish is no doubt freezing in the vacuum, I'll give you salvage rights and the buoy frequency for clear title to those slaves." The commander on the screen blinked rapidly, while Eddie continued, "I desire landing permission and the comm frequency of 'Happy Slave', I have business with them."

"Landing? Oh, no, no, not with females, not with the plague," he said, shaking his head.

Eddie sat up, "Plague?" and looked over at the comm, where Frax was whispering into her mike. "Muted, Cap'n. Z'hann didn't detect anything in her scans, she'll re-run them, but it will take time. She's asking for as much information as you can get, a sample would be great, but probably too much to hope for."

"No wonder they don't get much traffic," Two said. "They were irresponsible enough to go to a convention carrying disease?" The commander was waving frantically at them.

Eddie gestured at Frax, and she nodded at him, he leaned forward, "Perhaps you had best tell me ALL about this plague, and specifically how it relates to females. May I remind you that my weapons are hot, my shields are tight, and you are docked to a station with shields down." He turned to Two, "If you detect an energy spike from ship or station, destroy them and don't wait for permission."

"The plague happened about seventy, eighty years ago," the commander started, swallowing hard. "This was originally a colony world, our only one, the plague spread to the homeworld, we haven't heard from them in all that time," he continued. "It started on the mainland, I suggest you don't go there, the only survivors are..." he groped for the term, "Feral. Wild animals. We lost our last-but-one shuttle there, we've been building up our orbital and asteroidal industry, we're lucky we can mine the fourth planet's rings for some things." He hunched forward, "We've got some trade with the island, that's where the survivors are. They're clean, they cut off contact in time, we trade for things like manganese, nitrogen, carbon, and export steel and titanium from the asteroids."

"Why not females, Master?" Two asked from the helm.

"Females were carriers of the plague," he said, his eyes hollow. "Males were the victims, five of six died. A side effect was that four of five surviving births are female, even now, the island's population is mostly female. That's why all the spacers are male, the only way a female can go into space is as a slave." He laughed ironically, "You thought we would send a plague ship to the convention? No, we're not that stupid. Even with judicial slavery, we had an overabundance of volunteers, even though it meant a slave collar." He looked into Eddie's eyes, "We _need_ galactic trade to survive. We're regressing, we're losing our tech. Our ship barely survived the trip back, with only six people on board. It took us ten years to make her flight-worthy."

He sat back, "You want to land, we've worked out what we think is the best way for you and your... cargo to survive. Just beware of stowaways, I'm certain a number will sneak aboard, even if it means a collar for them."

------------------------

After the conversation ended, Frax remained, eyes fixed on nothing as she softly caressed her terminal. Eddie and Two exchanged looks, Eddie clearing his throat. She held up an index finger in a 'wait one' gesture, rapidly typed something, then disconnected a pair of thin cables from her temple, turning to face the others. "Master, I noticed the similarity to the Happy Slave software, so I took the liberty of planting a wee little worm in their comm software," she said. "Want to see what they're saying now?"

"Of course," Eddie said, and Frax touched a stud. A rather static-y video displayed on the main screen, somewhat scratchy audio could be hear as the picture rolled, then stabilized. The commander was saying, "... know to expect visitors, but there's no one on duty until morning."

"Why is it so much poorer than our comm?" Two asked.

"We helped their transmission quite a bit," Frax replied. "This is the unassisted version, but if I boost the quality they'll detect it, even with their systems." She turned to the right, facing across the bridge, "Master, their tech is really spotty, their video is about 1970's, but their radios are late 40's. I caught a maintenance panel open on the bridge, they're using tubes!"

"Tubes?" Two asked.

"Glass tubes with a ceramic base, little bits of metal inside..." Frax replied. "Of course, we're also spotty, the last I heard we still hadn't cracked replicators, but antigravity went right away." She shrugged, "Nature of tech. I pulled up a survey map of the island, it's a few degrees south of the equator, looks like the largest of a chain of volcanic islands. It's about 150 by 50 kilometers, roughly pear-shaped, a nice little harbour."

"Very good, I have one question," Eddie asked. "Who authorized you to plant the worm, slave?"

"I did, Master," Frax replied. "We need the intelligence, I took the opportunity, I didn't see a chance to ask permission." She gave him a look, "Master, you want your enhanced slaves to show initiative, to think for ourselves. I doubt very much they'll find it, the worm is a few hundred bytes and is command-activated, so I don't think it will come back to bite us on the arse." She sighed, "Master, if necessary, blame me and beat me, that's one reason you spaced with slaves, because we can get into places you can't."

"I don't understand, Master," Two said from the helm.

"It is a long story, which you do not need to know. Perhaps later, for now, you will remain silent about this." He turned to the left, to where Frax sat at the comm station, "In the future, please discuss this type of thing with me beforehand," and Frax nodded.

"Coming up on terminator, Captain," Two said from the helm. "We're across the planet from the station, if we want to sneak ashore, this is the time."

"Please do so, as quietly and silently as possible," Eddie said, then turned to Frax, "Please fetch Z'hann and L'jissa, we need to discuss certain things," and Frax turned to her console, "No, walk and fetch them, I need a few minutes for a word with Two, alone."

------------------------

"Master?" Two asked, rather nervously.

He sat back in the command chair, steepling his fingers and saying, "I am speaking as your Captain to you as a crewmember, not as Master and slave, is that understood?"

"I... not really, Master," she said, swallowing. "Am I to be punished?"

"This is not as a slave, but I am concerned with your reasoning for leaving Frax on duty when she was having a conflict of some sort with her Happy Slave software." He looked at her, "Objectively, as a slave, you should have gone into quivering terror as she did at the thought of harming a free person, but you did not. Why?" Her mouth hung open as she thought, he prompted her, "Step outside your collar, why did you act thusly?"

"Sometimes I wish I could step out of it, Master," she said with a small smile, and he looked at her, "I am sorry, Captain. I... was thinking," she said slowly, "if I could push her into thinking as a slave, a punished slave, it might provide a... base from which she might be able to function. Therefore, I shouted and treated her as a slave might treat another errant slave, by binding her and leaving her to think. I then reported to Mistress, who watched her on the monitors while I waited. I was dismissed, and I went back to our cell." She shrugged, "I didn't know what to do, I thought routine might help her."

"I see..." Eddie mused. "While your concern for a crewmate is commendable, and you did report it to L'jissa, would you have done the same for a crewmate that had broken an arm? Would you have required her to stand her shift?" Two shook her head as he continued, "Properly, you should have summoned medical aid immediately, as well as L'jissa. It would have been her responsibility to see the shift was taken by an able crewmate, if she did not stand it herself. The key words are 'able crew', one that is fully functional, mentally and physically. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think so, Master, I see my error. If I see a problem, I am to report it to someone trained to deal with it." She glanced at him, "I am not to be punished?"

"I did not say you were not to be punished, but as a crewmember, not as a slave," he informed her. "I believe it just that you will stand at least one shift that I designate bound and gagged as you did to Frax, after we leave Windfall. Perhaps that will impress upon you the fact that by gagging her, you left her unable to communicate, which is the critical point. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mas..." and he frowned, "I am sorry, Captain," and he nodded.

------------------------

L'jissa entered with Z'hann, Eight and two others, slaves from one of the holds. One was an enormous fellow, fully eight feet high and with a greyish, muscular build. He looked like he had been roughly chiseled from stone, the judicial collar on his neck was absurdly tiny, his slave belt looked like a thin black line instead of the steel it was.

The other was a felinoid, with six legs and a long tail that lashed, her common collar looked like a bit of jewelry. Her fur changed colors as she sat on her rear legs, a double line of small teats running down her chest.

Eddie swiveled in the command chair as the mountainous fellow took a seat on the deck, L'jissa smiling as she said, "I was checking our manifest, and who should I see we're carrying as cargo but two experienced spacers. I thought we might invite them into our little conspiracy. Six and the twins are locked in the cell, I don't trust them."

"I see," Eddie said slowly, looking at his first, "Why don't you introduce everyone?"

"Certainly," L'jissa replied. She pulled back her curly brown hair, "I am your second-in-command, L'jissa. For your information, while I have worn a slave collar, this is not one of them, it is a clan collar. We do not, unfortunately, have the ability to remove a slave collar." Both the large fellow and the felinoid leaned forward with interest. "Cap'n Eddie, the balding fellow over there wearing a truly tasteless green jumpsuit, is our Owner and Captain of this bucket." She patted a bulkhead fondly, "Reality is not what it appears, though. At the helm, we have Two, one of three WorkForce slaves, who is our navi-guesser. She tries very hard not to fly us into stars and planets, thank the Source she can add."

Two grinned, as L'jissa continued, "Continuing around, our six-legged friend was once known as H'ress, third of Comms on a liner that was hijacked. May we call you H'ress, or would you prefer something different?" The felinoid nodded, her fur flicking through different colors as L'jissa moved on, "The very tall, grey fellow was once known as..." she checked her datapadd.

"Gix, Mistress," he said. "I was Supply Master for my ship, 'an the First decided my form o' requisitionin' didn't meet regs." He smiled, "Me, I always thought if th' manifest said I needed two o' somethin', my shipmates could use three, and five was even better. Unfortunately, the Crown Court didn't see it my way, an' here I am."

"Ah," Eddie said. "A man after my own. Please continue, my dear," he motioned to L'jissa.

She smiled, "The slave with the white hair is Frax, who is a native of the same world as our Captain. She shares a difficulty with three of our other slaves, which we shall discuss in a minute. For now, she is third-in-command and our data slicer." She turned, "The redheaded slave kneeling next to Frax is Eight, as you see she shares an astounding similarity to Two. She is our cargo wench."

"I should be similar, we're the same model slave," Eight said quietly. "I've been using the twins as deck apes, that's about all they're good for."

Gix looked at Eight, then over to Eddie, "Your par', Master, but you don't have th' same... air as other slavers I've met." H'ress growled something in agreement.

"Indeed, for now, the last is our Healer, Z'hann, whom I have freed," Eddie said, motioning. He regarded them, fingers tented and chin resting on them, then said, "Two, how much longer till touchdown, and what time is it on the island?"

"At our current rate, an hour, Captain, although there are several small islands we can land on if necessary," she replied, and Frax threw up a digital clock on a display, "Slower planetary rotation, Master, we're on early evening, hour 22 of 30."

"Very well," he said, turning to the two newcomers, "Gix, H'ress, if you will agree to join my crew and accept my orders, I will free you. Otherwise, I must return you to the cargo bay."

"Can't free me, Master," Gix said, "I'm a judicial slave, like she is," motioning to Frax. "Court has ta free me, I 'preciate th' offer, I would if I could."

Eddie cocked his eye at H'ress, adding, "As L'jissa said, I have no way to remove a slave collar."

"I will of course accept," H'ress said, "I ask only I be made whole again, my fangs, claws and tail-spike torn from me." She cocked her head, "You wish us to train the others?"

"I do," Eddie said, looking at Gix once again, "I will make you a counter-offer, I will seek your freedom from a friendly court. I cannot, of course, guarantee the actions of a third party, but I will make every effort."

"Can't ask fer mor' n' that," he said, "I accept, Cap'n."

Eddie motioned, and Frax moved to H'ress, resting her left hand on the back of her collar as the lights went out. Gix asked, "Why you haven't changed yours?"

"I can," she said, her collar lights changing to blue, then back to the yellow and green judicial pattern, "I deserve my collar, though. I committed a crime, so I'm his slave."

"Yes..." Eddie drawled. "A bit of background, the convention we picked you both up at installed software in four of our enhanced slaves, including Frax. It is known as 'Happy Slave', and is headquartered on this planet, on an island. We need to disable or remove it from these four slaves. It was damaged somehow in Frax's installation. My dear?"

------------------------

"Master, the 'Happy Slave' software was apparently developed as an export item, to solve the 'problem' (she finger-quoted) of low morale among slaves," Frax started. "When it is installed in an enhanced slave, the slave's primary motivation, her primary focus is the happiness of her master. She gains pleasure for the knowledge that her master is happy with her, as an obedient, cheerful slave, indeed, I can remember thinking all females should be enslaved, that we were not smart enough, and that all a female needed was a collar and a Master." She grinned ruefully, "Note the genders, if a female Happy Slave were to be sold to a Mistress, I don't think she'd be as happy."

"Be useful for a household or shop slave, servin' her master's customers," Gix rumbled. "Why isn't yours workin'?"

"Master, I checked the program's error log, the reason my Happy Slave software crashed was a corrupted database file," she said. "I had to fire on the pirates that tried to take us, and Happy Slave really didn't like the idea of my firing on a free person, even though it was to protect my Master." She grinned, "I considered copying the corrupt file to the others, but I think that it's too bloody dangerous."

"Why is it too dangerous to copy a file?"

"Master, you've installed and removed software?" Frax asked, he nodded.

"Software is never perfect, especially version one, and especially demo software." Eddie nodded as Frax continued, "Every enhanced slave has three hard-coded user accounts on our controller boards."

"We have four, I don't have to call him 'Master' unless the slave account is active," Two objected as she monitored their flight path.

"Which mine is," she replied, turning to Eddie. "Master, I would suggest enabling the slave accounts on our enhanced slaves, we don't want to appear as anything but another routine slave ship. Calling you or Mistress by your names would be suspicious, a slave can't do it." She looked at Eight and Two, "Sorry, it's just for a while, a disguise."

"Like mine is," Gix said. He glanced at Eight, "C' you do it, or does th' Cap'n need to change you over?"

"No, I can..." she said, and closed her eyes as she shook. "That's... not comfortable, Master," she said. "Master, you'll train me, train the twins?"

"Yeah, what's this about a fourth account?" Gix asked.

"We did a little bit of illegal work on the control chips," Frax replied, "The factory default is three accounts, System, Master, and slave, that's why we have to revert to the slave account when we go dirtside. The system account controls biological functions, such as heart, respiration, and so forth. It's the most dangerous account to play in, and also the least protected. The Master account is voice-command activated, and..."

Two raised a finger, "I can see the Master account being protected, after all, one doesn't want a slave getting where she shouldn't." She touched her controls, swerving around a storm, "But why is the system account so unprotected?"

"No idea, but it is," Frax replied. She brushed her hair back from her left ear, adjusting the comm station earbug and continuing, "It's similar to the engine controls, I could get into those and screw around with the timing, nothing might happen or we might go 'boom'. What these idiots did..."

"One moment," Eddie said. "You have access to the engine controls?"

"Master," and Frax used the term deliberately, "I'm your slave, but I'm also a slicer, a data cracker. Mistress said she had been authorized by you to tell me your plans. Am I in error, Master?" He shook his head, and she continued, "I can get into any system on this ship, but I'm not stupid. I want to live, Master, so I'm not going to screw around with something I'm not trained for, that I don't know anything about. I'll give you my word that I won't get into anything you don't want me to, just don't sell me, Master, that's all I ask." He slowly nodded, and she cracked a grin, "Shall I continue, Master?"

"Please do, although I would prefer to be called 'Captain'."

"I'd prefer not to wear that hideous green smock - thing, but I'm only a slave, Master," she joked, and Two nodded, "Master, we could design something much more tasteful..."

"I am not so foolish as to get into an argument about fashion with females," he said. "I will accept being called Master in public, if you wish to parade about nude off duty, you may." The two girls grinned at each other, as he continued, "Why are they idiots?"

"They used the system account to install demo software, Master. I would think they killed quite a few slaves before it worked correctly," she said quietly. "I think because they're not as sophisticated, they didn't realize that, it was easier to do it that way."

Eddie cocked his head, she gestured, "Master, they're _copying_, they're not _creating_, otherwise they should have been able to install it in the Master's file area. If I copy, I might kill Six, or the twins, they're working now, even if they're annoying. I copy the wrong file to the wrong place, or it expects value A and I'm value B, I could stop their heart, and not be able to get it started again."

"In order to fix this, what do you need?"

"Ideally, their source code, licensed or stolen. Get me in the right area, I'll copy files to my storage," she tapped her collar, "Second option, a disable or remove code or program. Third option, a licensed, installed copy of the program. See if you can get a site license or other bulk license."

"I'll volunteer for that installation," Two said quietly.

"Noted, but we shall see what the situation requires," he said, and turned to Z'hann, "What have you determined about this plague?"

"First, I doubt there is such a thing as a plague anymore," she said. "Seventy or eighty years is a long time for a virus to remain active without a new case coming to light. However, we will take precautions, primarily against the fear endemic to this population." She shifted, "The virus was an airborne agent, however it also transmitted a more lethal variant by transmission of bodily fluids – kissing, sexual relations, and so forth. What made this so horrifying is that it seemed to be gender - based, the primary victims were male, the primary carriers female." She gazed around the small room, "Kissing your mate in the morning was effectively a death sentence. As such, they have developed an understandable paranoia, although I would think that non-hominoids would be viewed as more curiosity than menace."

"So what do we do?" L'jissa said. "Not only do we need this software, we need to trade for supplies, and our life support units are running on their red-lines." She looked at Eddie, adding softly, "We are a slaver, we could sell off fifty or so slaves in trade..."

"No!" he said. "I may be forced to act the part of a slaver, but I will not..."

"Master," Frax said gently, "This is a lovely world, why don't we see what it's like, and then if there are any volunteers among the slaves, we can sell them off..."

"The terms 'volunteer' and 'slave' are mutually exclusive," Eddie said. "If we must offload personnel, I shall purchase an estate locally and assign _paid_ staff, to maintain it in my absence. I am responsible for every being on this ship, including the ones you don't like. Neither they, or you, are for sale. While perhaps not the best possible solution to the problem, it is one that I can live with."

"In any case, all of our slave females will need to wear this mask," Z'hann said. "May I have a volunteer?" Frax stepped forward, kneeling before the healer. Z'hann tilted her head back, "I think it best that the slave be cuffed before the mask is placed on her," and she reached behind her to cuff herself. "Note the long tube, this goes down the esophagus, it is best if the slave swallows rapidly while it is being emplaced, I would suggest pinching the nostrils to help." Frax's eyes crossed as she tried to keep an eye on it, until Z'hann added, "The chin is cupped like this, the nasal filters are emplaced and the nose wrapped like so. Pull the hair away, the slave lowers her chin for a tighter fit, the rear wings are crossed at the back of the skull, and the entire mask is heat-treated on the slave, forming an air-tight seal she cannot remove, and she cannot speak through."

"Comfortable?" Eight asked, and Frax rocked her head side to side. "You've worn worse?" and she nodded. "How does she breathe, eat or drink?"

"She breathes through a set of nasal filters which are changed once a week by her master," Z'hann replied. "There is a small tube that food and drink are inserted through, it is an efficient design." She tossed a small white square to Eddie, "In contrast, a simple visual distinction, free females and males have a simple cloth mask that is tied behind the ears. Two, lock your board, let L'jissa fly, and Eight will do you, and Gix will do Eight."

"Yes, Mistress," Two replied, kneeling before Eight, locking her hands behind her as she addressed Gix, "Once we land, I will be available to assist you, Master."

"We shall need it," he said, "Especially if we need to mask all two hundred forty slaves aboard."

------------------------

With the slaves locked in the cells and L'jissa at the helm, Eddie nodded at H'ress, who said, "Calling the port." She waited a moment, the screen cleared to show a young woman who was looking up from her textbook, wearing a light blue ceramic collar, a white cotton mask sitting crumpled on her console. She blinked rapidly, then asked bluntly, "Who are you?"

"Visitors, we desire docking space and an appointment with the proprietors of 'Happy Slave'," Eddie said dryly.

"You're from the galaxy," she said softly.

"Docking space?" Eddie prodded gently.

"Oh, yes!" she shook herself, shoving her pencil behind a long, pointed ear, "Number two's the only other one," she said, and reached to a different section of her board. "I turned the beacon on, it's on... 145.417." She blushed, "I'm not supposed to be in now, it's not my shift. There's no one scheduled at this time of night, so I can study and use a computer, then go to class," she admitted.

"There is nothing wrong with education," Eddie agreed, "As long as you fulfill your duties." He looked at L'jissa, who was frowning, "Is there a problem?

"The bay's too small, we won't fit," she said as she pulled up and started to circle the island. Below, they could see lights come on as island residents heard the ship, the controller was frantically keying her board, she shouted, "Land on the beach, it should be big enough! I'll meet you!"

------------------------

The _Query_ side slipped over the beach, her thrusters kicking up sand and blowing over beach chairs. Lights were coming on in the houses that lined the beach as her nose aligned with a road leading through the dunes, blocking the last twenty meters. With a whine, the thrusters shut down, the only sounds the ticking of cooling metal, disturbed seabirds, and the crash of waves on the beach.

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, October 17, 2001:  
Windfall, East Harbor beach, access road: 23:56: (relative)   
_**------------------------

Eddie dropped the two meters to the soft sand, then turned to catch Z'hann as she jumped from the lock. Adjusting his face mask, he asked, "May I inquire?"

"Of course," she said, picking up her medical bag and pulling it on her back.

He pulled on his own pack, checked his pistol, then asked, "I felt a slave belt when I caught you, I am curious to your reasons."

"Simple efficiency," she replied. "I do not wish to wear an absorptive undergarment, they leak and smell, a belt does not, and I can hardly operate on myself," she replied. "I can wear it as an undergarment under a jumpsuit, although with the island's location near the equator, the temperature will not be pleasant." She looked up at Eddie as they reached a gravel road, "As you noticed, in a tropical environment, there is minimal clothing. I suggest we purchase suitable clothing as quickly as possible."

------------------------

A'rel pedaled her bicycle toward the beach, her bag and books carelessly thrust in the woven basket attached to the handlebars. In the dim starlight, she could barely see two figures walking up the road. Twisting her small light toward them, she recognized the captain of the starship. Backing the pedals to brake, she said, "I thought I'd find you here. Did you close your hatches?"

"We did," the smaller of the two, a female, said. "I am Z'hann, the healer. We must determine the incidence of the plague, to see if we can safely open the ship."

"I think you could, it's been years since a case was in the news, and the major reason we females are collared and masked is tradition," A'rel said, reaching up, "Oh, Source! I've forgotten my mask! Do you have another?"

"Another reason females are masked is that it is law," a voice came out of the darkness. Two figures came out of the darkness, wearing black shorts and halter-tops. "Girl, you know the law, and the penalties," the first one said through her mask. A'rel nodded, walking her bicycle to the trees and handing her bag and books to the officer, who tied her hands behind her. The senior officer said, "There's a place to park starships," and A'rel said, "I told them to land there, Bay two was too small." The cop shone her hand light down the road, and whistled. "Looks like we need to do some building, that's a big ship."

"Only forty meters long," Eddie said.

"Bigger than ours," the junior cop said. "We need to get your statements, I hope you don't mind a bit of a walk."

------------------------

Frax waited in the slave cell, fully 'zombied' and carefully secured by Gix. It didn't surprise her that he knew how to control slaves, he had arranged them in an ascending height queue, which placed her squarely in the middle. As she sat up on her knees, ankles and neck secured to the bulkhead, she thought, '_Now I have an idea of what the WorkForce girls went through. All we can do is kneel here, wait, and think. I can't even turn my head to look at the twins on my right. All I can do is look at Two across from me_.'

'_Nobody knows how to handle a slave like another slave, I've heard. It's true_,' she mused. '_I even have some sympathy for the twins. They're smaller than I am, and I'm no giant like Gix, or even Master Eddie, who's six foot two. The twins, though, they've had a rough life, they're maybe... fourteen, they should be in school, looking at cute boys and going on first dates. Instead, they've been sold as slaves, then enhanced and had their ovaries removed and sold_.' She shook her head mentally, '_I don't blame them for not trusting Master Eddie, all they've had is each other. Still, that's no excuse for not trying to be better slaves..._'

'_Listen to me natter on about being a better slave_,' she thought. '_At first, I really wanted this collar, ever since I saw it on telly. They're so pretty, I told myself, and it will really make me stand out when I go clubbing. So I schemed and plotted to get one, and forced Miss Wayne to give me one. One of the more idiotic things I've done, along with going to live in Poland with a boy. Still he was hot, I enjoyed being his girl, even if it wasn't like this. The sex was better, when he allowed me. Pity he was arrested for drugs, and I had to wire Father for money to come home. That was embarrassing_!' She looked at Two, kneeling shackled like her half a meter away, and saw the blank eyes, '_I wonder what she's thinking about. That's all we can really do here is wait and think. I felt us touch down earlier, I wonder what we'll be doing_.' She snorted to herself, '_Girl, you're a fracking SLAVE now, you don't need to know. Collar, chains, and slave belt, follow orders, yes, master, follow your master's orders, when he sells you, yes, you're a slave, an intelligent animal, that's all you are now girl is an animal. What are the odds of your being freed, of getting the collar you wanted oh-so-badly OFF your neck? Microscopic. Effectively impossible. Girl, you're not even in this card game, you're part of the pot! Look at all those girls Master bought from the hotel, intelligent, beautiful females, but they're slave girls that are just a bit past their prime. Just a business decision, we've amortized them, we've gotten all the profit we can from them, so just a bit more, sell them off to an off-world twit for pennies. There's always more females to collar, slaves to buy and sell_.' She looked across the cell, and met Two's eyes, '_She really is a beautiful girl, that golden skin and reddish hair I'd kill for, their tiny waist. Except she's an engineered female, designed to please. A slave, just like me_.'

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, October 17, 2001:  
Windfall, East Harbor, security building: 26:33: (relative)   
_**------------------------

"Stand for the learned one!" the bailiff shouted through her white cotton mask, and Eddie stood with the others as the old man slowly shuffled into the courtroom. He sat, and waved the others down, another bailiff brought the inmate in, having her stand on a platform in the middle of the courtroom. The judge looked through the papers on his desk, then looked at the female, "Girl, you're charged with endangering the public health by going unmasked in public. What do you have to say for yourself?"

A'rel shrugged, "I wanted to see the starship, All-father. You remember what the competition was like when our ship left." She looked up, then quickly lowered her eyes again, "Three slots for females, even if they were going as slaves. There were how many entries?"

"Far too many, thousands of our free females. I haven't understood that."

"All-father, it was the only chance we had to leave, to see the stars. Our males can go to orbit, to visit the station, we females cannot." She looked up, "The stars, that's worth a slave collar, All-father. A lot of females think it's worth a collar." Eddie looked at Z'hann, sitting next to him, as several of the local females in the audience nodded.

"You knew the risks, traveling without your mask, and you know the penalties, girl." He shuffled papers as she nodded.

"I know, All-father," then turned and sprinted for the watching crowd, sliding to a stop on her knees before Eddie. Raising her wrists and crossing them, her head below her outstretched arms, A'rel said, "I submit myself to you as your slave, master, fully and completely, for the rest of my natural life. Claim me, own me, take me, command me, my Master, my Owner." She leaned forward, and Eddie reached forward to catch her, his hand on her crossed wrists.

"It is complete, she will be marked and registered as your slave, and delivered to you," All-father said. "Your name, sir?"

"Edward Nigma," he replied, then said, "I do not need another slave, sir."

"She has chosen you, the last act of a free female, and spoken the ritual phrases," All-father said. "You have accepted her by touching her, by clasping her wrists, she will be marked and collared as your slave." He leaned forward, "My suggestion is to accept her, use her as your guide while you are here, when you leave, you may either take her with you, or sell her." He gestured, "Most slaves you will see here are convicted criminals, she is a clever one to use the old phrases from the homeworld, and has bound herself to you as a genuine slave, not a convict." He took up his pen, "Do you wish to use her name as a slave name?"

Eddie looked down, the girl nodded, holding her hands behind her, "Please, master?"

He sighed, "You seem to have enslaved yourself for nothing, girl. I do not want you, I do not care what you call yourself." Turning to the All-father, he asked, "However, I am curious, isn't a slave a slave?"

Z'hann spoke up, "If you do not wish her, I do." She turned to the judge, asking, "Is there any barrier to a free female owning a slave?" She ignored Eddie's glower.

"There is no barrier to your ownership, if your mate Edward is willing to transfer her title to you." Eddie waved, and the judge said, "Very well, she is transferred to your ownership." He addressed Eddie's question, "Perhaps on another planet, but here female convicts are sentenced to a term as slave, they are owned by the court, and their masters negotiate for long term leases. They have certain rights, those of food, water, medical care, and education if desired that their master must provide. They also have the right of Petition, they can petition the court for a new master if the one they have is abusive. If granted, they are removed and re-auctioned." Eddie nodded, All-father continued, "I do not think this one has realized that by using the old phrases, she does not have those protections, which she would have had IF she had waited a bit longer."

"May I speak, All-father?" the girl said, and the judge waved his hand, "I thought about it, but if I were to be auctioned, I may wind up as a farm girl, tending a field for the next twenty years. This way, I am Mistress' slave, she may sell me, but I think she'll take me with her as one of her girls. I can see the stars, other planets," and she raised her head, tossing her straight black hair back, "Much better than walking behind a plow."

"Very well, the case of A'rel of Shonna Fields is closed," All-father said, ringing a chime. "Slave A'rel, go with the bailiff, she will have you marked and collared for your new owner. Fair day for you, enjoy your new slave." He watched the girl leave, then looked over his spectacles at Eddie, "I understand you are looking into trade possibilities with your planet?" Eddie nodded, and the All-father said, "Off the record, keep the girl. She will be able to give you valuable advice, although as a slave she will not be allowed in certain areas. Now, as it is late, we have arranged quarters for you and your mate. Rest well, sir." He nodded as Eddie and Z'hann stood to leave, asking, "Next case?"

------------------------

"I cannot believe you kept the girl," Eddie snarled at Z'hann, who was calmly looking around the suite.

"Why not?" she asked. "YOU seem to have made a career of rescuing slave girls in distress." She dropped her pack, ticking off on her fingers, "Frax, who was a stowaway, myself from life as a tavern slave, the twins numerous times, the three WorkForce girls, Gix and H'ress, the wenches from the hotel... shall I go on?"

"You're not bringing her on board."

"Captain..." Z'hann began.

Eddie cut her off sharply. "That's right. Captain. As Captain, I determine who is allowed on board my ship. Not L'jissa, not Frax and not even you my dear."

"If I cannot bring A'rel, then I shall not come," Z'hann said reasonably. "That will leave you without a healer for your crew, in violation of Guild regulations. I have repeatedly stated that I needed assistance, most recently when I learned you had purchased over two hundred slaves. While medical care for slaves is not a Guild requirement, it is common sense, as a disease can easily spread among the slave holds and into the ship as a whole. One healer cannot examine and keep close enough attention on so many, indeed they are packed too tightly as it is." She regarded him, "The way they are chained, all it will take is one hotel slave with a disease she acquired from her use-master to infect the entire hold."

"Secondly, A'rel is a farm girl, she was studying animal husbandry, which is close enough to be of use to me." She regarded him, "Thirdly, you are attempting to restrict what I might do with A'rel. The only legal basis you have for that is hazardous materials, and a humanoid slave is not classified as such. I am perfectly willing to pay standard rates for livestock passage, or you might deduct it from my wages, which, I note, have not been tendered to me per Spacer's Guild regulations. I believe L'jissa has also inquired about her wages, and we have not discussed employment contracts. Fourth, you might indeed deny me passage. However, you will then need to procure certified Healers, and will be in violation of Guild health and safety regulations until you do. You can buy two enslaved Healers, which I do not think you would, or hire a Class One Healer, which would be exorbitantly expensive, and doubtful for your class of ship and inexperience." She was silent, then continued, "You might also continue my employment as a Class Two Healer, ignore my slave, who is my property, and be in compliance with applicable Guild regulations. Indeed, I do not understand why you are so vehemently opposed to the girl, she is pleasant enough."

Eddie sighed in acknowledgment and defeat. "As you wish, but she chose slavery in order to reach the stars. I will not be the one who rewards her for doing so."

"Indeed," Z'hann said. "However, she is not your responsibility, she is mine, as my slave. You may be assured that she will not enjoy her slavery, and I have no immediate plans to free her."

"She _is_ my responsibility because YOU are my responsibility. It is a chain and one that is more binding than I think you realize." Grumbling, he threw himself on the low couch, "I shall sleep out here," he declared. "You may have the bed."

"Do not be an idiot," she said calmly. "First, there is plenty of room for both of us on the bed. Second, I am much too fatigued to even think of sexual relations, third I am still wearing my belt, which precludes them, and last, you have freed me, which means I might decline you if I wish." She crossed her arms, "While I am properly grateful to you for my freedom, that also means that as my Captain and my (she grinned) 'mate', you must listen to my advice. You may no longer order me to silence, as I am no longer a slave, I can speak my mind." She leaned forward, "Especially when it is something you do not want to hear."

He grumbled, she continued, "Using only objective fact and Guild regulations about the safe operation of a ship, with this number of crew on board, one Class Two healer is marginal for safety. You will note I am considering the Twins, Frax and the rest as free crew." She waited until he reluctantly nodded. "Secondly, we have 240 slaves listed as cargo. While Guild regulations do not specify a Healer for them, only a fool would ignore them, and neither one of us is a fool." She paused again, "While I am cognizant of your desire to improve their lives, and approve of it, until we can free them as you desire, they are slaves, not passengers, and have been treated as slaves. Hotel slaves, who are subject to any passing disease their use-master may have inflicted on them, however unknowingly. This applies to any species with compatible biochemistry, do you understand?"

He nodded again, she considered him, then said more gently, "Edward, you are a good man who is in a difficult situation. I will do what I can to assist you, but you must realize that there are times when cold, objective fact must over-ride personal preferences, no matter how deeply felt. Do you understand?"

He sighed, "I do not like this," he said. "As you well know, I am not in the business of slave trading, that is merely the role I play. Had I been aware of everything that it entailed, I assure you, I would have refused the job and returned home long ago."

"However, you are now in the role, and must see it to the end, as must we all," she added. "No matter our personal preferences. I would prefer not to own a slave, however, I am in need of A'rel's assistance, she is available, she is slave and I am her Mistress. I am aware that you see this as her manipulation of you in order to escape a society she does not like. For that, I apologize, I plan to show her the errors in her logic. For now, she is slave, she has woven her cocoon and must sleep in it. If she makes an error, I will address it. Is that satisfactory?"

"For now," he grudgingly admitted. "What are your plans for her?"

"In compliance with applicable law on this planet, I will see to her education and certification as a Healer Fourth." She looked at him, "Ideally, Healer Third, but you are aware of the most efficient method of doing so." She tapped her implant.

"That is MIND CONTROL!" He shouted at her, storming out to the suite's balcony.

She watched him calm himself, then said, "In a way. It is also an extremely efficient method of teaching. Indeed, I am considering upgrading mine, I find I am in need of additional storage space." She watched him sputter, then said, "Objective fact, Edward. It is not painful, indeed it is rather fascinating to watch, and it will be done by competent Guild Healers. Frax and mine were done by Slaver's Guild techs, a rather poor job. I can 'feel' data flowing, I should not be able to. While A'rel will indeed be forced to say 'Yes, Mistress', it is not onerous, and I will give you my word that at the closest possibility, I will exchange her control chip for the illegal one." Regarding him, she asked, "What disturbs you about A'rel? The fact that she was rather more blatant about throwing herself at you, that she feels that the only way to better her life is by wearing an off-planet slave collar, or the fact that she volunteered to be your slave?"

"Throwing herself at me?" he said, looking out at the endless sea.

"Throwing herself," she confirmed. "You may not realize this, but you are an attractive male, this island is primarily female, and I expect you will get other offers. I will not be able to deflect all of them, this is a patriarchal society with the males having multiple mates. Once the four girls can join us, we should be able to protect you. Now then, what disturbs you about A'rel?"

He sprang up and began to pace, "I do not wish to own slaves, it is offensive in the extreme to me. The way that she... she..."

"Offered herself?" Z'hann said. She took a stool, perching on it. "You are in a strange business, then. Perhaps I might offer some advice."

"Offer away," he replied, crossing his arms and looking at the ocean.

"Free those slaves you can," she said. "However, you must be practical, the judicial enslavements like Gix and Frax must have a court to do so, this means that you cannot liberate them immediately. In addition, the ship is not designed for passenger service, but it is designed to carry slaves." She regarded him, "I discussed your home world with Frax, there is no slavery there?"

"No, not legal slavery," he said. "It was finally abolished about two hundred years ago." He grimaced, "It was a rather bloody civil war that decided it in my country. There is still some trafficking in slaves, but it does not have legal sanction." He sighed, "My race, we were the ones that enslaved others, made the profit, and we are still feeling the guilt." He gestured, "Our planet is somewhat similar, we are just stepping out into the galaxy, we would prefer to conduct trade with worlds that do not practice slavery."

"Then you are severely limiting your options," she said. "Most planets that I am aware of have a similar approach to this planet, in that slavery is imposed by a court, for a certain term, and the slave regains their rights upon completion. The slave does have certain rights, this provides for a diligent, hardworking slave, whose master, if they are not a complete idiot, is strict but fair." She looked at him, "You cage your criminals, do you not?" He nodded, and she snorted, "Even the dullest slave can look back on an honest day's work, even if it planting a field of s'bassa grain, and feel good about himself. Furthermore, if he has a goal that is achievable, he will generally wish to complete his tasks." She contemplated him, "When your people enslaved the others, they were used for manual labor?" He nodded, and she said, "I thought so. It is simple common sense that a healthy slave that is well treated and given the tools to do her job effectively will not wish to revolt, to throw off her chains and cut her master's throat."

"I do not wish to own another intelligent being," he said.

"Do not you find it unusual that I, a former slave (she tugged on her collar), one that _you_ bought and freed, is arguing about slavery with you?" She regarded him in silence for a moment, "Perhaps it would be best if you occupied the floor tonight. I am going to bathe, and then sleep, I would suggest you concern yourself with the morrow."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, October 18, 2001:  
Windfall, East Harbor, temporary housing: 06:54: (relative)   
_**------------------------

There was a knock on the door, Z'hann went to answer it, only to be greeted by a slave bearing an armful of bedding. She took a sip of the excellent tea, asking, "You are the room slave?" The masked girl bobbed her head, Z'hann stepped back, "My mate is in the fresher, he is grumpy in the morning. My apologies in advance." She got the impression of a grin from the girl as she darted past, hearing Edward's awful singing over the shower.

She crept after the girl, and heard him ask, "That you, Z'hann? Is the tea..." then a shout, and he appeared, looking between the two girls, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Z'hann calmly took a sip of tea, "Pass her your towel, she is the room slave, let her do her tasks," as both women stopped, appraising him as he stood in the doorway, then the slave gave a nod of approval in Z'hann's direction, and resumed her tasks. Eddie retreated to the shower as Z'hann carefully closed the door, then knocked left fists with the slave as she yanked on a sheet.

------------------------

"I suggest you relax a bit while I am at the Ministry of Health," Z'hann said. "There is a small park here (she gestured at the map on her datapadd), A'rel will meet us there after her collaring. I will..."

"Reconsider about her?" he said.

"Only if she is actively carrying the disease," Z'hann said. "If that is the case, I will return her to the market myself, and inquire about enslaved healers." She gazed at him, "I have requested additional assistance, now I must procure it myself. While you are the captain, you do not have discretion where it comes to the health and safety of the crew and cargo. That is my responsibility, I will perform it to the best of my abilities. I have decided that A'rel is suitable to the task, if we have sufficient layover at our next stop I will have her enhanced and programmed with the appropriate databases. You will provide sufficient funding for this purpose under the Guild codes." Her eyes were hard, "I will not repeat the mistake you made with Frax and I. The job will be done properly and correctly, indeed, I believe it would be a useful addition to my own data. In addition, I shall inquire about other attachments we might make to Frax."

"I am still not pleased with this," Eddie said.

"Edward," she started. "You saw her ask for surgery to correct the installation before we left the ship. You saw her request upgraded storage capacity, like I have. I fully intend to explain the options to A'rel when we have a chance, if she does not wish it done, I will not do so. As Frax has the capabilities of her left hand, it is only logical that there be other attachments available. If she wishes to have them installed, of her own free choice, I do not see you having a valid objection. You have stated that you wish your slaves treated as free persons, that includes the right to determine what occurs with their own body."

"In addition," Z'hann said, "Frax persists in believing herself slave. I note that she could have easily changed her own collar lights and hip implant to read 'Free' if she had wished to, she has not." Z'hann was silent as she stared at him, eyes locked, "Indeed, I have spent time in a slave cell with her when she thought me slave. She persists in those mannerisms even when she is not required to, when even the twins and the WorkForce girls call you 'Captain Eddie', she calls you 'Master'. It is... irritating, she seems to be enjoying aspects of her enslavement, the only part that terrifies her is the thought of being sold away from you."

"And your proposal is?" he asked cooly.

"I readily confess to not having a specialty in xenopsychology," she said. "I am a generalist healer, as you know. While I do have some psychological files in my database, I believe the best temporary solution would be for you to specifically free her, to register her as free in the ship's database. She will no doubt object that a court action is required for you to do so, I believe you still retain the documentation from L'jissa's All-father?"

He nodded, "I do."

"Then that objection is answered," she said, and steepled her fingers. "It is a partial solution, at best. No doubt she will wish to maintain the collar lights and dress of a slave, the only other thing I might suggest is to free the other girls. Perhaps they might exert social pressure on her. For now, however, I prescribe an hour or two's recreation in a park for you." She gestured, "There is a bank there on the commercial district. Change some tungsten into local currency, and comm L'jissa with your location. She will be sending the four girls from the ship with additional funds, it will take them three hours to arrive at a good pace. I would also appreciate some local currency, I wish to buy new clothing for the two of us."

"Yes," he agreed. "It is still early, and I am already perspiring." He didn't miss her 'I told you so' look.

------------------------

"I am near the central fountain, in the park," Eddie told L'jissa, passing her the account information from the bank. "I shall look for their arrival, we shall get a meal and proceed to the local transport." He disconnected his comm, and made some notes on his datapadd. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he observed a young couple, the girl leaning over the fountain, hands behind her as she carefully maneuvered a tube in the front of her mask, the dancing sunlight on the water reflecting on her steel slave collar. Beside her, a young man caught the jet of water, using it like a water fountain on earth as he quenched his thirst. '_They look like brother and sister_,' he thought. '_They might be, although I wonder what crime she might have committed. Still, she looks happy_,' he mused, returning the young man's polite nod. He sighed, finally relaxing, the shrieks of children being heard. He turned his head, a young woman who looked pregnant, '_About four months for an earth girl_,' he mused, she wore a silver belly chain instead of the traditional slave belt and shepherded four children into the park. She caught his eye, he smiled as the children made a beeline for the fountain, and he moved his datapadd aside, gesturing for her to sit. With a sigh, she did, raising her sandal-clad feet and wiggling her toes. She eyed him, then rapidly clasped her slave collar, raising her crossed hands above her and then making a rocking motion with one hand, the other making a typing motion.

"I do apologize, but I do not understand your signs," he said. "I shall rectify this as quickly as possible. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Edward Nigma, captain of the starship _Query_."

She turned, eyes alight, then a frown crossed her face as she pulled at the leather mask that was sewn on her. "You wish to remove the mask," he said, adding, "It must be frustrating, not being able to speak. What would happen if you were to do so?" Her eyes went wide, she clasped her collar, hands flicking downward, crossing in front, then she drew her thumb across her throat, making a quick circle and snapping her head to the side.

"If I understand you correctly, as you are slave, if you were to remove your mask, you would be executed," and she nodded. "Your previous gesture, with the hands above..." She pointed at him, clasped her collar, then raised her hands as if bound. "Meaning master, hands down, indicates slave." His eyes were alight, "I do enjoy a puzzle to solve. The next gesture," he typed and rocked his hands, "a ship of some kind." She nodded, pointed to the fountain, making broad horizontal motions, like she was treading water, "Water, a seagoing craft, and above the sea..." she typed at the air, "space, a spaceship, a starship." She shot an index finger at him.

"My dear, if you will consent to teach me what you can, I would appreciate it. She nodded, then looked at the three girls and a boy in her charge. All about six or seven, they were rolling around, getting absolutely filthy and engaging in water fights. However, they were careful to keep their masks in place over their nose and mouth. Eddie frowned, noticing a silver chain wrapped twice around each of the girls' throats, and he leaned over, "Why the chains on the girls? Have they committed a crime?"

The young woman gazed at him, slowly shaking her head, touched her groin, then her collared throat. She motioned to his datapadd, making writing motions. Eddie was rigid in anger, she touched him, shaking her head, then wrote:

_It is an old law, recently overturned. The daughters of a slave are slave, the sons are not. Because of the plague, our birthrate is skewed, we have more surviving daughters than sons. In the three generations since the plague, we have more than tripled our population to nearly 180,000, but of those only 33,000 are male. One of their brothers did not survive, he did, but it was a narrow race. The sisters were healthy from the first, but we need the males to survive and procreate. _

She looked at him, then continued:_ The law has been changed, but narrowly. The change takes effect the next First Year, the one after this coming one. You will see many females that are with young, like I am. In addition, the laws have been tightened, more females are collared instead of simply fined. _

"What is the difference between you and a true slave?" he asked.

_A true slave wears a galactic collar_, she wrote. _Ours are placed on at a smithy, sealed with a pair of rivets, her sign would be _(her hands clasped her collar, then crossed behind). _I understand they cannot be removed_?

"Only with extreme difficulty," he said. "An enhanced slave has computer hardware implanted in her head, that is essentially impossible, as both types send tendrils throughout the nervous system. Yours, however, is for a fixed amount of time?"

She tapped her chest, then her groin, then made the 'slave' gesture again. "Except when you are born a slave," he interpreted, and she nodded. She looked at him, then up at the sky, and a flash of longing appeared. "You would like to go, to fly among the stars," he said quietly, and she nodded emphatically, gripping her collar, and placing her hands firmly behind her. "Even as a slave?" he questioned dubiously, and she nodded firmly again, slapping her wrists together behind her as she gazed into his eyes.

"I do apologize, but I find that ... difficult," he admitted. "Perhaps it is because I know here you have some rights, there, you have none. There, if you displease your master, or for no reason at all, your master might order your death by slow torture as a party entertainment, for you are legally less than an animal, whose death means as much at that party as slaughtering a bird for a meal does here." There was muffled choking sounds, Edward turned to see A'rel, bent over behind him on the grass, hands firmly tied behind her, trying not to vomit.

------------------------

Eddie moved over to the girl, pulling her back on her heels and forcing her head back. "Breathe deeply, girl. That's it." He watched her as her breathing eased, then told her, "Drink some water. When you feel better, I would appreciate you're performing a task for me." She nodded, and made her way over to the fountain, then knelt before him, "Take some of these coins, and go to the weaver I saw in the park, the one that has baskets. I want a good double handful of thin reeds, very flexible, about this long (holding his hands a foot apart). She scampered over to him, he dropped several of the multicolored ceramic coins in her hands, and turned back to the girl as A'rel ran away. "I was generous," he admitted. "She is new to her collar. I think we need to distract the young ones, if you don't mind?" Shaking her head, she raised her hands and snapped her fingers, the children giving up their play fighting, lining up, the girls kneeling in front of their brother as her hands flashed. The children locked their eyes on him, he told them, "My name is Captain Eddie, and I love puzzles and games. I'm going to teach you what is known as a logic puzzle, the first with a correct answer wins a coin," and he held a small coin up. "Shall we play a game?"

------------------------

"Excellent, C'riss, the answer is indeed three, then two," Eddie beamed, tossing her the small red coin. "For another coin, who can tell me what the duty of the man in the cell is?" Puzzled frowns arose, then the mother raised her finger, signing placing a hat on her head. "It is indeed, my dear," passing her a much larger coin. "His duty is to wear the unknown hat."

"We come now to a type of game known as 'soldiers and pirates'," he said, misnaming it somewhat. "Soldiers always tell the truth and pirates always lie. Very nasty people, pirates, they would tell you the sky is yellow when you can look up and see that it's green," pointing to the deep blue sky. Unsurprised, he saw several people do so.

"Now, while walking through the forest, you come to a fork in the path. One path leads to Gotham and the other leads to Metropolis. You don't know which is which, but you want to go to Gotham. You also find a pirate and a soldier. What one question can you ask either man and be sure of getting on the path to Gotham?"

Eddie sat back and contemplated the small gathering of people who were puzzling it out, then took several strands of reed from the somewhat impatiently waiting A'rel, fishing the coins from her bound hands and placing them with the others. He started to weave them into a cylinder, fishing out his pocketknife to trim the reeds as he worked. He hadn't made one of these in over twenty years, but it looked like he remembered how. "Come now, it's not that difficult and you are all very bright people. Anyone?" A'rel looked over her shoulder, and made a whimper. "You think you have it, girl?" She nodded, leaning forward and pulling at her bound wrists.

Eddie thought briefly about freeing her hands, knew that Z'hann would be upset if he 'interfered with her property' and then released her bonds anyway. She flashed some signs, and several people groaned, before one said, "She says to ask either one 'If I asked the other man, which would he say is the path to Gotham?'"

Eddie eyed her, then slowly nodded, "Explain, please."

Her hands flashed again, and her translator said, "If you ask the soldier, he'll point out the wrong path because he knows the pirate would lie. If you ask the pirate, he'll knows the soldier would put you one the right path, so he'll lie and tell you the wrong path. So whichever path they point out, you take the other one."

"Excellent," he said, and flipped her a coin. "One more puzzle," he said, "A volunteer from the audience, perhaps. How about you, young sir?" and motioned to the young man who had drunk from the fountain earlier. He tossed the toy he had been creating earlier to him, "Please describe that for everyone."

"It is a woven reed tube the length of my hand," he said, carefully examining it. "I see nothing in it or connected to it."

"Indeed," Eddie said, "I constructed it just a bit ago from reed my girl here purchased for me," and motioned him close, holding out his hands, "Please slide it on my fingers, and then pull them apart." He did so, Eddie wincing, "Please, sir, I will need use of my arms later," and people chuckled. "Perhaps two of the ladies?" and the pregnant girl took his right, while A'rel took his left. They nodded, and pulled, he gave them a look, "You wanted to get a bit back on your master, didn't you?" he asked A'rel, then winked. "This is on tightly, does everyone agree?" He put his hands behind his head, then pulled them forward, the toy between his fingers. Holding his hands out, he displayed the compression marks on his fingers, tossing the toy back to the first fellow, he asked, "Has there been any change?" The fellow shook his head, Eddie motioning to the young boy with his sisters, "He's a clever fellow," he asked his mother, who nodded, "He should figure it out in no time, far smarter than his sisters, but just to make it more challenging, have him do it behind his back." He looked at the cocky boy, "You up to it, son? Can you escape from it without damaging it?"

------------------------

As people were breaking up, the mother hurried over to Eddie, signing pulling two fingers apart. He smiled, and pulled her aside, whispering, "The natural instinct in a finger trap is to pull, which tightens it. Push the fingers together, then it can be slid off. Good luck, my dear." Her eyes sparkled, and she touched his shoulder in gratitude. As he collected the four kneeling slaves, he helped A'rel up also, adding to her, "I wagered you couldn't do the puzzle, it would have to be cut off you. Your mistress, for some reason, seems to think you're clever enough. If you get it off, without help or damaging it, I'll drop my objections, treat you like every other slave on my ship." He looked down at her, hands behind her back, index fingers trapped by the puzzle, "I think you're too stupid, slave. Prove me wrong."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, October 18, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 18:13 (GMT)   
_**------------------------

Sprink looked around curiously, there were students at the meeting from all four houses, fourth year and above. They stood about, talking in low voices as Professor Snape swept in, the usual scowl on his face. He surveyed the room, ticking off who was there in his mind. "Where is Quirk?" he asked Flitwick.

"Poppy's looking at her, a problem in DADA," Filius replied, "I'll fill her in later if she doesn't make it in time."

Severus nodded, and at the tick of 6:15, he flicked his wand at the door, sealing and locking it. "You are here as part of a extra credit project, the two most intelligent houses in Hogwarts." Some of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students raised their eyes, but they had too much experience with Professor Snape to say anything.

"With some notable exceptions," Filius added mildly, and the various ruffled feathers were smoothed. He tapped his wand on the blackboard, and a diagram appeared, "This is the layout of a muggle device known as a 'battery'. It is used to store electrical energy by converting chemical energy."

Professor Flitwick tapped the diagram, "There are one or more cells, each of which is composed of two half cells connected by the conductive electrolyte, the potion between the two. Each cell has a colour coded positive terminal and a negative terminal, which do not touch each other but are linked, positive to positive, negative to negative, and immersed in the electrolyte potion."

Professor Snape took over, "The electrolyte is a conductor which connects the half-cells together. Chemical energy is converted into electrical energy by reactions that transfer charge between the electrode (he tapped the positive and negative plates) and the potion. The potion is usually, but not always, a fluid. There are solid and gaseous electrolyte potions, I have been discussing these forms of potions in NEWT level."

Eleanor Branstone raised her hand, "Sir, looking about, most people here are from muggle or partial wizarding families. We're reasonably familiar with batteries, which of the three types are we looking for?"

"Three types?" Flitwick asked, and the seventh-year Hufflepuff said, "Rechargeable, non-rechargeable, and flow batteries, sir." At his raised eyebrow, she said, "Rechargeable are the ones in your phone or laptop, sir, non-rechargeable are one use, throwaway, like in a torch, and flow have the electrolyte in a separate tank, which is circulated through the battery with a pump." She grinned, "My pa's an electrician, sir, I've gone out with him on jobs in summer."

"This does open up other possibilities," Professor Snape mused. "Five points to Hufflepuff," he added. He looked up, "We are looking for a way to store magical energy other than a single charm, we have identified five different areas to research. They are the battery container, the potion itself, the anode, the cathode, and the load. Those of you who have taken alchemy will know that the material the object is constructed with is also a factor."

"How much is the load, and for what duration, sir?" Eleanor asked.

"I do not know," Professor Flitwick said. "Miss Bundy, Miss Wayne, this is part of that research contract we discussed," and people shot looks at the two as they immediately huddled under a privacy spell.

Chang Li, a fifth year Ravenclaw asked, "Sir, does Hogwarts have research contracts with _Arrowhead_?"

"We do, you will not discuss them," Snape replied.

"I didn't know about this," Amy Johnson reassured her house mate, adding, "Wayne likes to play her cards close to the vest."

"I didn't either," Sprink volunteered, "Mattie's a bloody shark (Amy nodded in agreement, as did others), but I know enough to be glad she's _our_ shark."

"We should add that to the school motto, 'Don't screw around with Wayne'," Eleanor said, looking over at Arthur, who had remained silent, "Brass, Morton."

"No comment," he said as the two reappeared, "With a margin for error, the magical equivalent of fifteen megawatts at twenty amps for three months," Mattie said.

"Very well," Professor Flitwick said. "There are thirty of you, we will break you up into five groups of six, one for each of the elements of the problem. Miss Wayne, Miss Bundy, do you mind being available for all?"

Anne traded a look with Mattie, who replied, "As long as security is maintained."

------------------------

Eleanor moved away from her group, "Professor, I think we would be more efficient if we knew more about what the end result should be."

"Perhaps. Miss Wayne?" Filius asked.

Mattie traded glances with Anne, who nodded, "'Tis a valid point," she said.

Mattie gazed at the students, then said, "All right. This is an interstellar communications system we're working on. Beyond that, I'll have your word that you won't discuss this with anyone outside this classroom." She glanced over at Arthur, "That includes you, Mr. Morton."

"Why the secrecy?" Chang Li asked.

"This is worth billions of pounds," Professor Snape said. "A substantial percentage which will go to Hogwarts. You were chosen not only for your intelligence and skills in potions or spellcasting, but also for your ability to keep your mouth shut. Are there any further questions?"

"What's Arrowhead's stock at now?" someone said jokingly. Mattie replied, "We just split again 1:3, common closed today at £65 a share, preferred at £137." Someone whistled softly, and Amy said, "Thank God I've got preferred."

"Having a few knuts to rub together is nice, isn't it," Sprink asked rhetorically. "A bit of background, mate?"

Mattie nodded, boosting herself to sit on the edge of a table, "There are three methods to communicate between star systems," she said. "The first is to send a letter, a ship goes from point A to point B, similar to the Royal Post. This is how most messages are sent, however, there are obvious delays in the transmission." She crossed her ankles, swinging them back and forth as she continued, "The second method is extremely expensive, but it is much faster. However, it is insecure, it is similar to a radio or wireless broadcast, in which anyone with the right equipment can pick up your message. Messages are routinely encrypted, the major downside is the cost, £1,500,000 an hour for the power and wear on the equipment over long distances." Several people winced at the price, and Mattie grinned, "Even I can't afford to send messages at that rate."

"Wasn't there another you mentioned, subspace?" Professor Flitwick asked, and she nodded. "Yes, but that fades at about 23 AU, it is FTL, but it's really only good for in-system use." She looked at Amy, "That's what the spaces on your ship diagrams are for, subspace."

Eleanor leaned forward, "You have _working_ FTL comms, Wayne?"

"Aye, we doth," Anne replied. "'Tis not suitable for interstellar, though."

"We would need to place thousands of relay buoys to reach Proxima Centauri with subspace," Mattie explained. "A ship needs common radio and subspace, it doesn't have the mass, and the drive field destabilizes the... well, let me start over." She took a breath, then said, "What we're working on with Project Sisal is quantum entanglement. It is instantaneous, with no range or power limits, and it is secure. Why isn't everyone using it, you ask."

"The field harmonics from the Jump drive doth destabilize the entanglement, with baryon encroachment upon the..." Anne started, and Mattie waved her hand. "I thought that was the simple explanation," she started.

Mattie grinned. "You're getting better." She turned to face the class, "We've all done the 'tin cans on a string' when we were younger. There are several factors with this arrangement. The equipment cannot lose power, which is simple enough with multiply redundant power supplies. That means either an asteroid or small moon. However, the big problem is that the communications field is incompatible with FTL drives. What's the solution to that?"

"Don't use FTL drives, obviously," someone said, and Anne giggled. "Doth you not realize the distances involved?" she asked.

Professor Flitwick said, "Proxima Centauri, our closest star, is 4.2 light years away. What is the travel time?"

"With FTL, about half an hour," Mattie said. "You spend more time talking to approach control and actually landing. By the way, they don't like us, we're the 'noisy, inconsiderate neighbors' because of all our radio and TV broadcasts. That's why they haven't made contact – would you?" She grinned wryly, "However, they are absolutely addicted to our daytime soap operas," and she shuddered. "Now, _without_ using FTL, using something like NASA's space shuttle, how long?" She looked around, "Any guesses?"

"You've actually met people from Centauri?" Eleanor asked. "What are they like?"

"'T'would be difficult to pick out in a crowd," Anne said, and held up her hand, "Of a cert, the major difference is they use the small finger as a second thumb on their hands." She wiggled her little finger. "'T'would be an advantage, s'trewth."

"Shuttle?" Flitwick asked.

"With the shuttle, which is not designed for it, 160,000 years," Mattie said, getting back on track. "It orbits at eight kilometers a second, so we have an insoluble problem. A generation ship, or sleeper ship would take too long, we can't use FTL, so this technology is worthless." She grinned evilly, "I do so love this kind of situation, where you're holding cards the others don't suspect. In this case..."

"In this case, we're the ace of spades," Arthur said. "What about the Guardians?"

"There are some out there now," Mattie admitted. "But the Guardians don't like magic, they're control freaks, just like I am. They've gone to a lot of trouble over billions of years to lock away as much magic as they could and have actively fought its spread." She gestured, a galactic map appeared at about head height, oriented so they faced it from above. A handful of lights blinked for attention. "Galactic North is to the top. The green light in the center is Oa, just outside and above the galaxy's central black hole. The light blue one is us. The orange one, opposite Oa from us is Zarrox. They're a major magical world, muggle Zarroi are as rare there as wizards are among humans. To the west, in red, is Mersa, throne world of a nice little empire of about two hundred stars. Which leaves galactic east and the flashing purple light of Ysmault, or what's left of it." Lines formed, linking the flashing lights into a rough, but rather flat, pyramid.

Professor Flitwick asked, "Is that shape a coincidence or does it hold some meaning?"

"My theory is the shape holds significance." A sharply defined pyramid appeared, nearly matching the one already in existence. "I think that as stars move in and out of the proper places while rotating around the galaxy, the influence of magic rises and falls there. But it's just a theory and it doesn't have anything to do with the point I'm making."

"My apologies Miss Wayne," the Professor said. "Please continue."

"The Zarroi don't leave their homeworld. With magic so readily available, they've never needed technology. They're also about as materialistic as Buddhist monks, so what magic they do use is fairly benign stuff. The Guardians don't consider them a threat. Mersan mages don't leave their homeworld either. They're considered too valuable and too dangerous by their government for that. Since they are already being controlled, the Guardians don't see them as a threat. Which brings us to Ysmault."

Mattie took a few breaths before continuing in a sadder voice. "Currently, Ysmault is being used by the Guardians as a prison to hold the T'chk T'chk. Think space-going locusts, destroying everything in their path, so I can understand why they are being held. However, millenia prior to that, the Ysmaulti were a magic using species similar in some ways to us. Magic was known to exist but was rare enough that technology had to develop as well. Which in turn spurred development of more advanced magic."

"Their version of Voldemort," a few people gasped at the casual use of the Dark Lord's name, but Mattie continued as if they hadn't, "conquered the planet and began building a galactic empire using both magic and technology. The Guardians could not abide that, so they sent Green Lanterns in to help the species in the path of the Ysmaulti expansion.

"The light from the supernovae set off during that war," in the galactic image, small flashes went off in the area near Ysmault, "won't reach Earth for another 30,000 years or so. Ysmault's sun survived, but all life on the planet was destroyed by orbital bombardment. Surviving Ysmaulti were hunted down and killed without exception. By the time the genocide was well under way, the Green Lanterns involved in the war had all been assigned other, and admittedly important, tasks or were dead."

"Your Guardians did not kill them personally or through their deputies, but did allow others to do so," Snape observed.

"They're not _my_ Guardians, but yes, I believe that to be the case. They may not be able to eliminate magic, but will act against those who use it in a hostile manner, even if they would not have acted in a similar case where magic is not involved."

"Good thing our intentions are peaceful," Eleanor said. "There's no threat here, no witches and wizards, just a bunch of rubes with a few tricks to show the rest of the galaxy."

"Yep," Mattie agreed. "However, our magic, at least according to a very limited sample, doesn't work well in space. That's why we need a battery of some sort to power the stasis spell Professor Flitwick's developing."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, October 20, 2001:  
London, Breast Cancer race start: 08:25   
_**------------------------

The reporter prowled among the participants, her cameraman following behind. "Blimey," she said, "It's Wayne, let's see if I can bag an interview."

Her subject turned from where she was stretching, and in contrast to her usual behavior, smiled at the approaching camera, cocking her head. "Emily, isn't it? From the Beeb?"

"News 24, you've watched our programme, Miss Wayne?"

"I have, I don't agree with everything, but then again, just about everyone can say that, eh?" She smiled, "We don't have much time before the race, but I'm glad to see you're participating. A few quick questions, I'm not really made up for an interview."

"Neither am I," Emily admitted. "I'm part of Auntie Beeb's contingent here," gesturing to her own running kit and bib number. "Shall we?" At Miss Wayne's nod, she held the microphone, and when the light flashed red, she said, "I'm here with Miss Wayne of Arrowhead and the Solar Guard at the London Breast Cancer marathon. Miss Wayne, I'm glad to see you here today."

"I'm glad to be here, Emily, as well as several of my colleagues from both the Guard and Arrowhead, as well as my schoolmates. I'd also like to mention my friends at Greywolf Transport, they've brought along several people to run. Every person that's willing to help, even if you're not running with us, helps to cure this disease." She smiled into the camera, "I notice the media is here, I'm glad to see the Beeb is helping here, as well as simply giving coverage." She gave a grin, "You're a runner, Emily, fancy a small wager on who has the better time?"

"I've been running for quite a few years, Miss Wayne, shall we say a pound?"

"I don't know if I can afford that, that's my lunch money..." Mattie said with a grin, then stuck out her hand, "Deal."

They shook on it, Emily chuckling as she added, "You're one of the youngest competitors here, as well as possibly the wealthiest. Why not simply write a cheque?"

"I could," Mattie admitted. "However, you actually raise more money this way, people feel good about themselves and are more likely to donate, and participate again. Even if I were just a poor, underpaid journalist like you," Emily grinned, "I'd still come out and run."

"Well, I certainly hope my boss heard that last bit," Emily said, and a whistle blew. "That's the warning for the race, this is BBC news 24," and the light went out on the camera as Emily handed off her microphone. "How have you been training, Miss Wayne?"

Mattie shook down as she said, "Not for publication," and Emily nodded, "You've dealt with the press before."

"Yes, I'm related to members of the Fourth Estate, and it's Mattie, if we're going to run together."

"That works for me," Emily said, touching her toes. "Who?"

"Lois Lane and Clark Kent, of the _Daily Planet_ in Metropolis," she added as she twisted. "A little side bet? You have a better time, an interview in space. I have a better time, a place and time I pick," Mattie grinned. Emily's eyes gleamed, and she shook on it as Mattie continued, "You asked how I was training, I've been doing my daily five mile runs, but also fifteen miles twice a week." She grinned at the newsie, "In Scotland. Up and down hills. How about you?"

------------------------

As he ran with some of his service mates, Thompson noticed a runner closing on Miss Wayne, something glittering in his hand. Glancing at Miss Wayne, he moved over, and with a quick twist, forced the needle into the runner's thigh, who glared at him, muttering, "Ah, Merde!" in French before collapsing as Miss Wayne continued unmolested.

------------------------

Amy noticed a collision between Mr. Thompson and another runner as she ran a few meters behind Mattie. Jumping over the collapsed runner, she saw Mr. Thompson speak quietly into a cell phone as he ran. Her aura tingled, and she looked around for the other wizard. She saw Sprink running several meters behind her, and continued looking, tapping her concealed wand in signal. Sprink nodded, tapping hers and looking around, then focusing on a blonde runner, raising her eyebrow at Amy. Shaking her head, she moved over to flank the unknown witch as Sprink moved behind her. "Guten Morgen. Hogwarts?" the blonde said.

Amy nodded, tapping her speech implant as the witch replied, "Sehr gut. Durmstrang und die BND senden ihren Respekt." (Very good. Durmstrang and the BND send their regards.)

Amy replied, "Danke. Ein Getränk später?" (Thank you, a drink later?)

"Ja können wir Quidditch sprechen." (Yes, we can talk Quidditch.) Amy nodded, moving off as Sprink raised an eyebrow. Falling back, Amy told the younger werewolf, "Germany and Durmstrang, we're having a drink later."

"I plan on collapsing later," Sprink panted. "Wonder who Mattie's with?"

Having watched telly at her muggle home, Amy recognized her, "That's one of the newsies from Auntie Beeb. Wizards are too insular."

------------------------


	8. Week Eight, 21 – 27 October, 2001

A/N#0: Please be aware that Eddie has to deal with some really sick bards in this chapter. Also, to answer some emails, once Eddie and crew return to Earth around Christmas, the Arrowhead/Solar Guard/galaxy thread will move to the fictionpress account ( and this will revert to the Hogwarts/Bat fiction. (WHEW!) Thanks for your patience! (This chapter is 41 pages in NeoOffice – extra meaty!)

A/N#1: I'd also like to thank Ghostie for his incredible patience! He's a wonderful fellow!

------------------------

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
8 – Week Eight, 21 – 27 October, 2001, Fourth Year  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, October 21, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 07:34 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Miss Wayne," Minerva called as Mattie entered the Great Hall, "How did your race go yesterday?"

Conversation died down as she moved against the wall, "Ma'am, I'm very happy to report that all of our runners completed the race. I'd like to thank my best buddy Sprink, who hung in there with me, Amy Johnson, Professor Sinestra, who got up early after her second-year Astronomy class, Professor Lupin, this was his first long race, and Professor Croft, who improved her time by three seconds." She cleared her throat, "Ma'am, with your permission, I'd like to post a chart in the Entrance Hall, Hogwarts pledged a total of 3,040 galleons, now comes the tough part, collecting!" There was laughter, she continued, "I'll be sending out an email to those people who signed up with me, you can simply print it and sign it with your Gringotts number, and owl it to them as your transfer authorization. Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who ran, and especially everyone who sponsored us!" She gave a rather ornate bow, and headed for the table, someone shouted, "What about your time?"

She stopped, "I improved, my new official time is now one hour, twenty two minutes, forty eight point eight seconds," she replied. "That's seven point two seconds faster. I highly recommend running up and down Scottish hills." There was general laughter and she continued to the table, where several owls were waiting for her.

Minerva smiled, then tapped her butter knife against her goblet, "Miss Johnson, I believe you had something to announce?"

Amy stood up from Ravenclaw, "Yes, ma'am, if my legs will support me after yesterday," and she grinned as people chuckled, "Greywolf Transport, Ltd, as part of their marketing, and in co-operation with Arrowhead, is releasing the first version of their first-person flight simulator game. I'd like to thank our spokeswolf and model, Sprink Tonks (who stood and waved)." She added, "This will run on your laptops, I've been specifically asked that you _not_ install it on the school's computers." As people laughed, she added, "I'd also like to mention that all the equipment and hardware we show is the real thing, or at least at the blueprint stage, and Sprink is giving autographs."

Sprink leaned over, pulling a box from under the table, Mattie said, "A word of experience, Sprink. Never, ever sign your full legal name, I'd sign it 'S. Tonks' or 'Sprink', but not the whole thing."

"The 'whole thing'?" Charlie asked.

"You don't want to know, Charlie," Mattie said. "I thought I was bad with 'Helena Martha', but poor Sprink..." she added as she passed over a Sharpie® marker.

"Now I'm really curious," he said, and she pulled him aside, whispering in his ear, "Susquehanna Eleanora Mathilda Black Tonks". He winced, "I'm sorry I asked."

------------------------

"Mattie?" She turned as Arthur said, "I was thinking about a round of golf, I'm all caught up."

"Unfortunately, I'm not," she admitted. "I've got a Charms essay to finish, and I really need to be here to sign for some supplies for that project." He nodded. "Professor Flitwick's signing for some Gringotts silver for Hogwarts, but there's other stuff coming on consignment. Since he's willing to do some coaching while we wait..." She shrugged, "Maybe the driving range later?"

"Mr. Morton?" He looked up, Professor Croft continued, "If you're interested, Miss Johnson and Mr. Slater were looking for a fourth, if you'd like to partner with me."

"I..."

"Go ahead, would you like me to reserve tee times for you?" Mattie said, her cell phone in hand. The professor nodded, and she dialed, "Hello, London golf club? This is Miss Wayne of Arrowhead Investments, I've like to reserve tee times for friends of mine..." As she waited, she fished out cards, initialing them and handing them to Arthur and Lara Croft. "Nine o'clock? Yes, I think that would be fine, and a pair of golf carts, too, please. No, I'm sorry, I can't make it myself, but put lunch on my tab, please, at the 19th hole. Yes, that would be fine. Mr. Morton, Mr. Slater and Miss Johnson of Greywolf Transport, and Miss Croft. Thank you." She closed her mobile, and winked at Arthur, told him, "Go change, this is the country club, jeans won't cut it."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, October 21, 2001:  
Windfall, South road, rest area: 11:25: (relative)  
_**------------------------

The driver tugged on the pulley arrangement that served as her reins, and the team of six-legged, humped 'oxen' pulling the transport swerved into a small parking area, heading toward a long, low trough. They stopped, heads diving into the trough as she set the brake and climbed down the side of the transport, jumping the last few feet from the ladder to the ground. Walking to the side, she started to pump a handle, a minute later water gushed out into the trough. As her passengers started to disembark, walking across the compacted gravel road, the slave walked back to the cargo cart that was pulled behind, unlatching a wicker arrangement that confined a bound girl, and walking her to the side of the trough for water.

As she threaded a nozzle into the hole in the new slave's hood, the girl pulled on her bound hands, making a protesting sound. Eddie looked at the traveling teacher that he had been speaking with, and she shrugged, "A girl is officially enslaved in her home district, where her file is maintained with the slave control office. She's then put on the block, and her contract is bid." She looked across the road, "The other fellow is leaving the wash-house, if you wish to void waste."

"I will need to unbind my girls, please excuse me," Eddie said as the new slave was walked back to the cargo cart and re-secured, another one being unlatched. In keeping with the plan he had devised with Z'hann and Frax, they would present the four girls as standard 'enhanced' slaves, where an 'unlocked' Frax would attempt to steal the source code while the other three, Eddie and Z'hann served as a distraction. They had considered informing Six and the twins, but it was felt they would object to the removal of their Happy Slave software, and so had not been informed. The four slaves had been placed in 'zombie' mode when they left the ship, carrying backpacks of tungsten coin and other supplies. They had been 'programmed' to walk the fifteen kilometers, Frax had later written a note, complaining to him privately that day that she was out of shape, and wished to stay with the cart instead of riding. This Eddie had 'ordered' her to do that morning, she had immediately cuffed her wrists behind her, and was walking next to the cargo cart, a slave leash binding her to it. Z'hann had checked her infrequently, washing her eyes of the road dust, and reported that Frax was happy with occasional rest stops and watering.

------------------------

Passing the key to her slave belt to a rather dirty Frax, who would service the other three slaves, Z'hann cleansed herself, then walked to inspect a small gallows that faced the public wash-houses, hidden behind some trees and perpendicular to the road. The recent corpse that hung from it was a nude male, swinging from a rope in the sea breeze. A small signpost informed passers-by of his crime, that of property theft in the beating death of the slave who lay wrapped in white cloth, her face up and bare in a glass-topped coffin below him, her face still bruised and cut.

"He deserved it," a matriarch said. "I don't care if he did fly that ship, you don't treat a slave like that. His connections couldn't save him this time!"

"He had done this before?" Z'hann asked.

"Not that could be proved," the older woman said. "His previous convictions were for mistreating slaves, and denying their Petitions, but his money and influence spared him dancing on air," she said, giving the corpse a glare. "This time, he had the ill luck to have her summoned when two inspectors arrived. Honest inspectors, ones that he hadn't bought in the market!"

------------------------  
**_Sunday, October 21, 2001:  
Killarney, Ireland, St. Mary's Cathedral: 11:25: (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"... Amen," the holy Father said. As people settled down, he said, "My brothers and sisters, I am troubled. Troubled in that those who would see profit in the sufferings of others, that would take advantage of their greed, that would take advantage of the weaknesses of others, would rule others in their most destitute, would invade the heavens."

"Brothers and sisters," he continued, "I would ask those of you who have daughters to stand." People looked at each other, then a number of people stood. The good father nodded, "Those of you standing have been blessed with the joys of a child, of a little girl, to love and cherish, to see her grow up safe, to be strong, and eventually, if God is willing, to bless you with grandchildren to love." He leaned forward, "What if she were to be taken from you, ripped from your bosom, never for you to see again?" There were several cries, and he added, "Your daughter, the anguish that you feel, if you cannot hold her in your arms, you can only pray to God above that somewhere, somewhere in this wide galaxy that she would find shelter, someone to love and protect her." He gazed sternly at them, "I give unto you a way to help the daughters of others, by taking one into your home, by making her your daughter, to love and protect her, to guide and assist her, as she has been taken by force, for unholy profit, from the bosom of her family among the stars, just as you would wish your daughter to receive aid in her hour of need."

He paused, taking a sip of water, "Brothers and sisters, we have all seen news, that of the rescue of those daughters of God from unholy slavery. Other towns, other communities on our tiny world have stepped forward to help those in greatest need, by bringing those rescued from slavery into their hearts, into their communities. I ask those of you who have the room in your hearts and hearths to bring a daughter of the stars home, to make this her home as well." He looked about the silent church, "Brothers and sisters, I will be doing this, I care not that my new daughter has red skin or gold, that her blood be red or green. I care only that this is a sister in trouble, and it is my duty before God to assist her in any way I can. I will be overjoyed if she accepts God into her life, but regardless of that, of her past, this is a soul that needs help." He looked around, "I would ask you to stand, to join with me in prayer."

------------------------

"Father," the woman said, "We've space at our home for one or two. Are there any sisters?"

"I do not know," Father Stephen said. "Senora Delacort is the lady helping out," indicating a young, dusky skinned woman.

"Hola," the young woman said, "You are asking for sisters?" She smiled, well aware that her slave collar with the yellow lights was drawing attention. "I do not know of any like myself that were kidnapped, but we do have several that were bred slaves, that are enhanced." She looked at the people listening, "I was kidnapped and collared from Argentina, this is a common collar. It is implanted into my spine." There were gasps of shock, she smiled, "A judicial collar has yellow and green lights, it sends tendrils throughout the nervous system. Mine would be very difficult to remove, a judicial collar and enhancement is impossible to remove without killing the girl."

"What is enhancement?" Father Stephen asked.

"The slave has a control board implanted into her brain," Senora Delacort said to horrified gasps. "They are programmed like a computer, even with the maximum amount of freedom we can give them, they will still say, 'Yes, Master' and 'No, Mistress' for the rest of their days." She looked at the middle aged woman, "We have several bred slaves, enhanced slaves, that are difficult to place. They are wonderful people, but they are helpless, they cannot stop those phrases, no matter how desperately they wish to."

"I will accept one into my home," the good Father said. "Perhaps, in time, a solution may be found."

"Bueno," Senora Delacort said. "We are remodeling the empty storefront next to the bakery on the High Street. Please come by and meet the girls, but," she raised a finger, "They are accustomed to wearing nothing but their collars and slave belts. Clothing is a difficult concept for some of them," she warned.

------------------------  
**_Sunday, October 21, 2001:  
Durban, South Africa, docks: 21:02: (GMT + 2)  
_**------------------------

"Looking for a good time?" one of the burly fellows asked the platinum blonde in the skintight blue dress.

She looked him up and down, then shifted her gaze to his two equally large chums. "I could use something to eat," she said cooly. "Are you offering?"

"Between the three of us," he smirked, "We'll fill you up, baby."

"That remains to be seen," she replied, taking a last sip of her drink. She ran a perfect, blood red fingernail around the rim of the glass, then sighed, "If this is the best available, I may as well accept it." She slung her purse over her shoulder, standing from the bar, and following them out. No one noticed that she didn't reflect in the bar's mirror.

------------------------

"This is a shortcut," one of the fellows said, and she calmly walked with them down the dimly lit alleyway, her stiletto heels clicking as she walked. As they walked out of a pool of light, one grabbed her, saying, "Now, bitch, you're ours."

"Indeed? I would say you're mine," she said, waving her hand negligently as the three stiffened in place. "You were planning on raping and killing me," she said calmly. "Instead, I will be the one doing the rape, and you will be the ones... well, you shall see." Waving her hand again, their clothing vanished, and she slowly got on her knees before the first, her clothing dissolving into mist as her wings spread.

------------------------

"Holy Mother of God," the bar wench said, holding the bucket of empty beer bottles. The figure with the white-blonde hair rose, two crying infants lying on the filthy concrete where her victims once stood. The third, reduced to a teenage girl, stood frozen in place.

"Hardly," the figure said, walking toward her, blue tinged bat wings spread from behind her as a blue dress formed once again about her. She smiled, "You have nothing to fear from a succubus, muggle." Reaching out, she tipped up the girl's chin, her eyes red as she smiled.

"Who... what?" the girl asked, seeing the gaping hole in the demon's wrist.

"Oh, this?" she asked, "I was crucified by the Romans in 71 BC," as the girl saw the fires of Hell in her eyes. "As far as who?" She smiled cruelly, "You may use the name... Lucille if you wish." Turning, she walked away, only the click of her heels and the flick of her tail could be seen as she faded into the mist.

------------------------  
**_Sunday, October 21, 2001:  
Windfall, Shonna Fields: 21:10: (relative)  
_**------------------------

"Welcome to Shonna Fields!" the matriarch called from behind her mask to the weary travelers. Eddie groaned, then stood, the low benches were designed for the natives averaging about four foot eight, his six-two was just too long. For the last several hours, he had been sitting on the floor of the 'bus', with a blanket for padding as he leaned against the seat. It was still uncomfortable, but at least his back was supported, and he could rest his arms on the seat backs. Aside from that, the trip had been reasonably pleasant, with no discrimination between free and slave women as they chatted. (The only other male was an older man, who had slept through the trip, they had gotten used to his snoring.)

As people filed off the 'bus', making their way inside the inn, the innkeeper stopped Frax, "You're much too dirty. Go help the driver, then she'll show you where to wash." Frax looked at her master, who nodded, releasing her hands, and removing the leash from her neck. The innkeeper told her, "Help the driver unload the new slaves, and get them fed and watered, and cage them for the night."

------------------------

"You're to help?" one of the inn's younger daughters asked, a silver chain wrapped twice around her throat, and Frax nodded. "Go help H'taap with the shonnen, the pull-beasts, I'll be there in a moment." Following her nose with the animal's unique stench, and being used to the shonnen's bleating (sounding more like a soprano goat than a six-legged, 2500 kilo rhinoceros sized ox), Frax found H'taap untangling the traces that served as reins, the luggage set aside, but the three slaves still locked in their wicker baskets, heads and feet protruding. She coiled them, hanging them on hooks on the front of the 'bus', which had been backed into place. Taking a short bamboo pipe, it was thrust through an eye-hole, and twisted, a locking bolt holding chains coming undone, the draw-bar connecting the 'bus' to the yoked shonnen dropping free.

With a muffled 'hi-ya!', H'taap vaulted on the back of a shonnen, waving Frax up beside her. Studying the almost five-foot high beast, she took a few steps back, then ran and jumped on, the animal's sweat causing her to slide on its back. With a squeak of surprise, she leaned forward, over the animal's shoulder hump, her nipple bells jingling as her breasts straddled the hump. Desperately, she clutched at the two meter-long horns, each with a metal ring screwed into it. Frax remembered seeing the reins connecting to the rings, a small bell was attached to the tip of the horn. Her feet found two foot-rests in the heavy wooden yoke that rested against the hump and over the broad shoulders.

"Shonnen are most manageable when they can smell others of the herd," the young slave said. "That's why they're almost always worked in pairs, even though they're slower that way," she added. "We need to get them to the paddock gate, once the yoke is off, they'll run through to be with the herd. Don't get underfoot, they'll trample you, won't notice and you'll be dead." Frax nodded in the rapidly dimming light, and followed H'taap's lead, her shonnen becoming more agitated as it smelled the herd. They stopped outside the gate, the shonnen pawing the ground as the girl climbed up next to Frax. "We unlock the neck-rings, they drop down, and then we grab the yoke and throw it, and ourselves off the side. Don't be trampled!" she warned, and Frax nodded, leaning to the right to twist the yoke as the girl unlatched her side, then the one on H'taap's beast. "One, two, three, twist and JUMP!"

With an 'oof', Frax landed on her back, the heavy wooden yoke on her stomach as the shonnen ran through the heavy gate in the brick wall, the other two slaves picking up the neck-rings and bolting them in place as it lay on her stomach. H'taap took her dropped bamboo pipe, tapping Frax' shin as she lay under the yoke, motioning her up. "We still have a lot of work to do before we can rest," the girl said. "Pick it up, we need to get it to the out going gate for tomorrow." With a grunt, Frax managed to balance it on the edges of the neck-rings, then tried to pick it up, failing miserably. She tried to slide it across the grass, and couldn't even move it.

"Slave," the girl said. "You're too used to pushing buttons on a starship, not doing real work." She grabbed a fistful of Frax's platinum hair, putting her head between the two yokes, telling her, "Out here, we work, not simply lie around in a cloud of perfume with our legs spread." She guided her hands into two small holes, "If I can lift that, so can you. Try lifting with your legs, not your back, girl."

As Frax managed to stand, she wondered, '_What the bloody hell is she talking about? This is the longest dry spell I've had since I started college_.'

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
Windfall, South road: 06:05: (relative)  
_**------------------------

As she walked, Frax thought that she had never been happier, even though she had been awakened before dawn in the communal slave quarters. '_I don't think it's the Happy Slave software_,' she mused. '_It's a different feeling, more... co-operative, they're helping me, the new girl, get her work done. I'm just jealous that their master got a license allowing them to bypass the masks_.' She attempted to wiggle her tongue inside the mask, a plate held it down, enforcing her silence. She remembered the struggle she'd had with the yoking of the shonnen that morning, although it had been cleverly done. A pair had entered a feed stall, the design had only allowed a pair, and a low brick wall had forced the massive beasts into the correct position. As they lowered their heads into their feeding troughs, they had inserted their necks into the rings, the upper brace had then been lowered into position and secured while they ate, ignored by the shonnen.

'_It's an interesting planet_,' she thought. '_Concrete and brick walls, a windmill powered generator and oil lights_,' remembering the blacksmith using an electric arc furnace. '_Carbon steel, and hand-pumped water, ceramic motors and animal powered transport, a simpler time. Slaves are treated well here, we're worked, but we're not beaten, we have some rights. I wouldn't mind being a slave here. __Master Eddie says that he'll take me back to Earth, I want to file a report with Miss Wayne, then I hope I can come back_.' She trudged on, her sandaled feet kicking up dust from the graveled dirt road, which stuck to her sweaty body. '_Yes, a lot less stress here, just a leashed slave girl walking behind her master's cart. This has been a wonderful holiday, I don't have to deal with fending off network attacks, repeating something for the umpty-zillionth time to a brain-dead user on my network who thinks they're better than me because they have a doctorate. So what if I'm wearing a collar_?' She looked down at herself, '_So what if I'm __welded into a steel slave belt, with my wrists locked behind me_?' She pulled at her wrists, '_So what if that belt tightens me down to finally give me that twenty-inch waist? Yes, it's tight, but so are my corsets, it's not as tight as my eighteen-incher, and Liz never did like lacing me into that. This feels good, so what if it's a chastity? I paid £250 for the one I had in London, this one is much better, and I'd be paying forty quid to get the workout in London that I've gotten here for free. I feel wonderful, the weather is great, I've always wanted pierced nips, but I've never had the courage before. Really, the only fly has been the feeding tube, and I'm a slave, I've got to have something to complain about_.' She snorted to herself, '_I'm sure the others think I'm daft, I'm not supposed to be happy about being a slave, I should hate it. Hate it with every fibre of my being, just like Miss Wayne does. I don't know what her reasons are, and I think Master Eddie is worried about me. I don't know why, but... I'm happy_.' She shrugged, '_Go figure that, I'm happy being a slave girl_.' Shaking her head in disbelief, she thought, '_I'm going to have to talk to Master Eddie. He's the only other crazy person on this planet_.'

She looked over at the young native girl wearing an off-planet slave collar. '_A judicial collar, also_,' she mused. '_I hope she's as happy with her mistress as I am with Master Eddie_,' remembering the girl's muffled complaints as she was sewn into the leather slave mask, as the leather corset was fit in place and a slave belt riveted on. '_They had a time working that corset off_,' she remembered, and wondered why Mistress Z'hann had picked her up. She stole another glance to the right, where the two walked, having a private discussion, the girl writing an occasional note in Mistress' board. '_Still, while these masks are comfortable, I can see a girl occasionally wanting to speak_,' she thought, as the girl ran ahead, climbing on the back and climbing the circular staircase as the driver slowed, a young couple waiting to board. Mistress Z'hann reached over and released her slave leash, and her hands, "Get their luggage on and secured, girl. We need to talk." Frax whimpered once in obedience.

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, Subspace group: 07:27: (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Elizabeth Sterling yawned as she set her takeaway tea from the shop downstairs on her cubicle's desk. As she transferred the tea into her Clare College mug, she saw the silver framed picture of her missing friend Ash. '_Gone to the stars, don't wait up_,' she grumbled to herself, remembering the note. '_Twit_,' she told it, '_Come back soon, and safe. I miss you. We had such a great time at Cambridge_.' She shook her head, '_You always were the 'wild child'_,' she told the picture.

Sighing, she logged out the latest code on her part of the subspace detection field project.

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
Windfall, South road: 07:46: (relative)  
_**------------------------

"Do you understand your part, Frax?" Z'hann asked, and the slave nodded, making a note: _I'll capture as much information as I can. I'm sorry I've been such a pain in the arse. _

"Arse?" Z'hann asked, and Frax patted her rear, as Z'hann chuckled. "Do you feel all right? Tired?" she asked.

Frax shook her head, _Something about this planet agrees with me_, she wrote. _Maybe it's the lower gravity, but even after the last few days, and all the walking, __I just feel full of energy__, like I could run around the island. _

Z'hann took out a scanner, "You certainly aren't showing the fatigue poisons I would expect. I will examine Edward to see if it is duplicated in your species."

_Could it be the star's spectral output_? Frax wrote, and scratched her head with the padd's stylus, adding, _So far, all I really have to complain about is dirty hair. A cold water shower last night in the barn didn't help it. How much further, mistress? _

"Another few hours until we stop for mid-meal, I believe," Z'hann replied, and Frax made another note, _One thing about these masks, they're comfortable enough, but eating through the little tube is a major pain in the arse. They would have done better to design a proper gag for us to wear._

"You may ride on the cart when you wish to rest," the healer said, and the girl nodded, "It is only a short time longer, then we shall be off and you shall regain use of your voice." She regarded the platinum haired slave, "You are certain you wish surgery on your implants?"

_When data is flowing, I can feel the wires itch_, the girl wrote. _I don't think that's right, it's like having a small rock in your shoe_, she added, and traced a line around the back of her skull. _I think I can be more useful to the ship and Master Eddie with additional implants, in any event, it can't hurt to see what's on the market_. She gave a look at Z'hann, adding with emphasis, _Legal and illegal_.

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
Killarney, Ireland, High Street: 10:31: (GMT)  
_**------------------------

On a lark, Mary McDonough took a different route to Mario's shop, stopping by the storefront Father Stephen had mentioned. They had discussed the good Father's request, the five of them, young Billy being the most excited about getting a sister.

She nodded politely to Rabbi Fleishman, who was in earnest discussion with the head of the town's small Muslim community. Outside the shop, under an awning, four of the girls sat at a table, frowning over textbooks. Shaking her head, '_They do look like identical sisters, complete to the glowing collars_,' she told herself, '_They also look like they're twelve years old_,' she added, carefully banking her moral outrage. '_I cannae take it out on the girls_,' she chastised herself, blinking as one brushed her reddish hair back, revealing a silver disk on her temple.

"Outrageous, isn't it?" Rabbi Fleishman asked softly, startling her out of her thoughts. "Senora Delacort visited Imam Al-Said Friday, and my congregation on Saturday. We must do something to help these girls, as we might help the innocent victims of a disaster."

"I just want to mother them all," Mary said, equally softly. "Help them with their schooling, tuck them into bed..."

"Make sure there are no monsters underneath," the rabbi said with a small smile. "No, these monsters are in their memories. What can it be like, to be sold like an animal?" He shook his head softly, "We'll be taking one in, I know."

"These four look so precious..." Mary admitted.

"They're the puppies in the window," Rabbi Fleishman agreed. He motioned inside. "Senora Delacort has some older puppies that need a home, go help them paint."

------------------------

"It's fixed, mistress," the girl said, carrying her toolbox. "What may I do for you next, mistress?"

"You may put that down and meet Mary McDonough," Senora Delacort said. "Her husband runs a plumber's shop a few streets away."

The girl knelt, her green-tinted hair an unusual contrast to her slightly bluish skin. "Greetings, Mistress. How may I serve you?"

"By sitting and talking with us," Senora Delacort said. "Would you be interested in joining Mrs. McDonough's family?"

The girl looked pensive, "May it please Mistresses, is there any way my sister can join us? We have tried to protect each other, and..."

"Go and get her," Mary said instantly, and a wide smile broke across her face as the girl dashed away.

"I did not know there were sisters," Delacort said. "My apologies."

"We need to keep them together," Mary replied, as the two returned. It was immediately apparent that the two were actually of different species, but they held each others' hands tightly as they dropped to their knees.

The first girl was in her late teens and wore a common collar, her younger 'sister' had the red hair and golden skin of a WorkForce slave. The younger girl had paint spatters on her body, both were 'dressed' in only their collars, slave belts and worn sandals that were tied on their ankles. Mary pulled out a chair a few inches, patting the back and saying, "Please, sit. Let's talk."

------------------------

Mary placed the paperwork in her purse, asking, "Are you both happy with the arrangements? We'll drop you here with Ms. Delacort Wednesday evenings for dinner and a meeting, and you'll live with us, you'll be part of our family."

"It has been a while, Mistress," J'en, the older girl replied wryly. "I was on a colony ship that was hijacked, while 'Seven' here (she messed the younger girl's hair, who dodged away), is a bred wench."

"At least I'm not a raw wench, like some I could mention," Seven teased softly, head down, looking aside at her 'sister'.

Delacort chuckled, as Mary said, "Let's go and fetch lunch for the boys at the shop, and we'll get you something to wear."

"Mistress, we are wearing something," Seven said, confused. "We are wearing our collars and belts."

J'en rolled her eyes, "A smock, can't you see these people overdress? We have to fit in."

"The belts can't be removed?" Mary asked.

"We haven't been able to," Delacort shrugged. "We're supposed to get some sort of device from offworld that can do so, but we haven't yet. The fellows at the machine shop tried various types of saws and a cutting torch, but couldn't even scratch it. They didn't try plasma torches, they didn't want to kill the girls. Seven, please fetch a suction kit." The young girl scampered off, Delacort said, "The girls need to have their... bodily waste... (she said delicately) suctioned out, as they can't use the toilet normally. This is a device the Canadians developed, it fits over the seat, the girl connects her belt, and it uses a vacuum pump to eject it into the bowl, where it's flushed away."

"We've been taught how to clean and maintain it, Mistress." J'en said, as Seven came back, dropping a white smock in her sister's lap, carrying a cardboard box and wearing a white smock of her own. She had scrubbed most of the paint from her face, although there was still a white spot on the back of her right ear.

------------------------

"Hello, my dear," Mary told her husband, giving him a peck on the cheek. "How are things?"

"Busy," Mario replied, then spied the two girls as they tried to hide. His face split in a wide Italian grin, and he waved them in, "Welcome, girls, welcome to Mario's Plumbing. Don't be shy, no one's going to hurt you."

"Louis," Mary said, "These are our new daughters, J'en (she indicated the older girl), and her younger sister Seven. Girls, this is my husband Mario, and Louis Delgado, one of the plumbers."

"Hello, Masters," J'en said shyly. "We are pleased to meet you."

"Now, there's no Masters here," Louis said gently, taking a seat on a worn bench. "Just ordinary working blokes."

"Please forgive us, Master," J'en said, kneeling with her sister on the dirty concrete.

"Stand up, girls," Mario said softly, and they reluctantly did so, heads down. He glanced at Mary, "They don't have one o' those computers in their heads, do they, forces 'em ta be slaves?"

"WHAT?" Louis snarled, an ugly expression flicked across Louis' face. The girls squeaked in fear, hiding behind Mary.

"Oh, lord, please, girls, I'm sorry," Louis said softly, holding out his hand. "I wasn't mad at _you_, I was mad at the people..."

"Not people, animals. Barbarians, thugs," Mario said, "Makes me want to take a lupara to them."

"I'll join you," Louis said. "Shotgun's too good for them, though. Got to think of something suitable, something _slow_ enough." He thought a minute, "Ants."

"We can do better than that," Mario said. He looked at his wife, "What about school?"

"They're not ... _enhanced_ ... she said, with a distasteful expression. "We'll enter them in St. Brigids', they'll have a bit to catch up on," Mary said. "I was thinking they could come here with the boys after school." She smiled fondly at them, "They scored well in mathematics, and practical work. History and economics we'll have to work on."

"Master, we can work," J'en said, but Mario shook his head, "You work by going to school, learning and growing," he said gently.

"And we wanna know if anyone hurts you," Louis said. "You're family, we look out for family."

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
New York City, World Trade Center site: 12:25: (GMT - 5)  
_**------------------------

The heavy bulldozer 'dinged' as it slowly backed off, the concrete debris in the bucket. Another worker looked down, seeing a woman's left arm, her brown skin covered in white dust, a gold watch and wedding rings visible, and he blew the whistle that stopped all work on the site to recover her body.

------------------------

The crane lifted the slab of concrete away, the cops processing the scene as they had so many times before. "She's surprisingly intact," the medical examiner said, "We'll examine her, but it looks like that beam came down. Snapped her neck, she would have died instantly."

"The concrete protected her, I don't even see too many rat bites," the duty sergeant commented. "Even has her purse. At least we can put one more family's minds at rest." He yelled down, "Got her name yet?"

"Maria Cortez," one of the cops yelled back, where he was examining the purse.

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
Windfall, West coast, Happy Slave compound: 13:51: (relative)  
_**------------------------

Eddie returned the driver's wave as she started the bus again. He looked after her for a minute, then said, "Six and the twins will stay with me. Frax and the girl will go with Z'hann. Good luck," and started down the gravel road leading into the trees.

------------------------

'_There he is, the bastard_,' Eddie thought, recognizing the salesman from the girl's descriptions as he smiled and pasted a large smile on his face. "Hello, there!" he said. "I've been admiring what you do with slaves, and I'd like to talk to you about licensing..."

------------------------

'_The sign says_ 'Authorized personnel only', _and we're authorized, by Master Eddie_,' Frax smirked to herself as Mistress Z'hann released the slaves' cuffs. '_A three-button lock, just like at home_,' she thought. '_Let's try the standard ones, they're probably all keyed the same_,' touching the 5, 3, and 1 buttons. With a click, the door released, and she peeked around the door, then motioned the others through.

------------------------

"Thank you, my dear," Eddie told the enhanced slave who had gracefully served him a cup of tea. She backed away on her knees, then rose, head bowed as his own girls knelt against the wall. He appeared to take a sip, then set it aside, "Tell me, what can you program a girl to do? Household duties are all well and good, but doesn't their own sense of self-preservation try to kick in when they're in a hazardous situation, for instance a mine?"

------------------------

Frax stopped outside a window, and peeked inside, once again touching the code to enter the small computer center. Winding her way through the equipment with an experienced tread, she came upon a workstation, and motioned for the other two to help her stack crates to hide her. Cracking her knuckles, she knelt, using the cable Z'hann gave her to connect herself to the machine, and became very still.

------------------------

"So, the girl will sacrifice herself to save her master's property, luggage, that type of thing?" Eddie continued, "Most interesting, but they are, after all, only slaves, easily replaced. Now you say the newest versions are far more secure, that is something I have been concerned about. These girls," he waved at his three slaves, "They're using the demo version from the trade show, and I'm very pleased with it so far, but it occurs that it would be far too easy for someone unauthorized to, shall we say, 'jack in' and plant another command. The girl would not of course know about it and could not report it to her master. The conspirators could not then be found, they would not know they needed to dispose of that slave." He mused, "I do have some contracts with government leaders, military officials, and they are concerned about misinformed citizens trying to plant an assassin."

He took another pretend sip as the marketing fellow said, "There is no problem there. While our demo version is easy to install and un-install, the secure version will only allow the slave's authorized user to command her. This would be installed by the slavemaster, who might designate up to ten other persons to give very specific commands. You can, of course use the slave as a food taster for poisons, and with modern bio-sculpt, have a slave used as a body-double for public appearances." He smiled, "That way, the slave is the one killed by assassins, you only need to hide the collar, there are body appliances that will do so, as well as re-routing the access point away from the temple, to the back of the head, for instance. This is especially useful for religious figures who you wish to 'arise from the dead' – simply bring out a fresh slave to replace the dead one."

"Yes," Eddie drawled. "I do have a few clients, major religious figures on various worlds. That would do nicely for them, to keep the tungsten rolling in from their mindless followers. All we need do is to get a few slaves of the same body mass and height, clothing will do the rest..." He fondled his teacup, then said, "Six! Come, kneel!" As the girl did so, he asked, "How would one uninstall the software?"

"You simply tell the slave, 'Uninstall Happy Slave Demo version 6.28'," he said, and Six jerked and quivered as the salesman's slave refilled his teacup. Eddie kept an eye on his girl from the corner of his eye as he waved off the slave's offer of a refill. Six continued to shiver and jerk before finally slumping where she knelt. "Restrict," he told her, and she jerked as she returned to her 'zombie' state. "Join the twins," he told her, and she gracefully arose, walking back to the wall and kneeling there again.

"Most interesting," Eddie confessed. "It doesn't damage the slave?" he asked. "I am holding various daughters, nieces, cousins and such as performance guarantees, bonds on debts and so forth. While my contracts allow me to enhance the female, there's always a bit more, you understand..."

"Of course, of course. We have complete medical data on the slaves..."

------------------------

T'ara whistled to herself as she keyed the lock code into the door, maneuvering the pallet of equipment into the building. '_Where is that stupid barb_?' she thought. '_I've got three more like this, I hate running on consignment_.' She sighed to herself, '_It's computer equipment, old computer gear but still better than these barbs know about, and they're paying top mark for it. I'll put it in with their other gear, they can sort through it later_.' She keyed the code into the antique lock, the antigrav lifter floating the equipment next to her.

------------------------

A'rel and Z'hann looked up from where they hid, an immobilized Frax kneeling facing out as she downloaded, while lights flashed and text scrolled on the old terminal. They could clearly hear the door being unlocked, a female voice cursing softly as various bangs and scrapes were heard. Z'hann readied a spray injector as footsteps were heard, walking back toward them.

------------------------

"I believe I can convince the various planetary leaders that a subtle change in their criminal laws will only benefit them," Eddie said. "For instance, the way you enslave your females for very minor offenses, that is clever. Then, all you need do is to make certain that various ... friends are appointed to the Slave Control Board, and that is a minor matter of a few payoffs, a rigged election or two. Nothing very difficult."

"Of course," the marketing manager smirked. "It is especially useful when you have the time, you can arrange to have your target's mate deliver female children only, a bit of nanotech sprayed or a single tiny capsule in her food..."

"If you can afford ten or fifteen years before the daughters will be of salable age," Eddie agreed, forcing his lunch down behind a pleasant smile. '_I'm sure Lady Shiva would have cut his throat already, so why am I putting up with this_?' he asked himself. '_Ah, yes, to serve as a diversion. Even Mattie would be tempted to kill him by now_.'

------------------------

T'ara turned, picking up a databoard, then realized '_This is far too advanced for these barbs_,' and looked to see a white haired slave kneeling before the terminal, a thin orange cable connecting her temple to the machine. "What the fracking Source are you doing, slave?" she asked as she dropped the databoard on the console. Her hand dropped to her gun as a slave stumbled into her, and she felt a hiss on her lower back.

"I hope she's not allergic," Z'hann muttered.

'_Would it matter if she was_?' A'rel thought, but didn't sign.

------------------------

Z'hann stowed the injector as A'rel rolled the girl's unconscious body over, removing the gun belt and handing it to her mistress, as well as removing the small pouch slung over the left hip. It tangled in the long, colorful scarf she had wrapped several times around her waist, and A'rel removed that, discovering a gal-tech slave belt underneath, disappearing into the girl's brief skirt. She undid a small plate that the girl had been wearing under her skirt, over her left hip. Giving that to her mistress, she rolled down the girl's black turtleneck to reveal a common slave collar, lights glowing yellow in the dim light.

"Turn her over, cuff her," Z'hann whispered, clipping the pouch around her waist, and buckling the gun belt on. Testing the scarf, she twisted it into an improvised gag, forcing it between the girl's teeth and wrapping it around into a blindfold before tying it off in a surgeon's knot. She looked at the immobile Frax, whispering, "Hurry up!"

------------------------

"So are you willing to offer a bulk license?" Eddie asked. "With every wench I collar, and every slave my mate enhances, there is potentially a good bit of profit." He took a pretend sip of the tea again, he really didn't trust these people. "Especially the high-profile ones, whose daughters are misbehaving, there's no need to advertise the fact that the wench is really an enhanced slave..."

"Precisely," the marketing fellow said, clearing his throat and asking delicately, "Is there a difficulty with the tea? Perhaps something else?"

"No, no," Eddie said. "Please forgive the deception, my mate is our ship's healer, she determined I suffered a slight allergy to the local tea. I do apologize if I have offended."

"Ah," the marketing fellow said. "Perfectly understandable, one must safeguard one's health." He leaned back, "As I understand your business, you primarily deal with the covert slave market, wenches that cannot be known as slaves, but must still be controlled."

"Exactly, the royal daughters and so forth," Eddie agreed. "We have a licensed supplier for modified control boards, there is no need for something so obvious as a collar or implants on the temple. This is especially useful when the succession to the throne goes through either firstborn or a matriarchal line, instead of through the male heir, as is proper. If the male heir is willing to act as a 'power behind the throne', loyally supporting his sister as Queen..."

"Yes?" the marketing fellow said. "Please continue..."

"It is very simple, a control receiver is mounted in the throat instead, if the wench disobeys, she slowly strangles." Eddie smiled evilly, "She is simply listed as another nameless slave in the palace, her hip implant is of course set to read slave..."

------------------------

The scrolling display finally finished, and Frax slumped slightly, before carefully disconnecting herself, restoring the console to its previous appearance, and looking up at Z'hann, her eyes wide as she made muffled sounds, then tearing at her mask in frustration.

"Do what Frax says," Z'hann whispered to her slave, adding, "Do you know the way out? Can you carry the slave?" Frax looked over the unconscious T'ara, then nodded, adjusting the neckline of the girl's black sleeveless sport top to better display her collar. With a muffled grunt, she got the girl up in a fireman's carry, as Z'hann went one way to meet Eddie, the three girls going another.

------------------------

"Can we make a deal, beloved?" Z'hann asked, her collar hidden by the high neckline on her sleeveless green top. The phrase indicated a minor problem.

"I do believe so, my dear," he replied. "I believe our people will be very excited, we seem to have the basis of a good working relationship. Where are your wenches?"

"I sent them to the road, to wait for the next carriage," she said casually.

"Excellent, my attorneys from Dewey, Billum and Howe will be in touch with the contracts," Eddie said smoothly. "Until then, a bit of earnest money? A few kilos," he said, tossing a bank draft on the table.

"Let me get you a receipt," the salesman said, a wide smile on his face.

------------------------

A'rel scurried ahead, opening doors for Frax and her unconscious burden as they made their way out. They ran for a trail that looped off through the deep woods surrounding the low buildings, the endless creak of the windmill and the roar of the nearby surf drowning out the birdsong as they crept along.

A few hundred meters into the woods, there was no sign of habitation, but as A'rel rounded a bend in the path, she came on a work party of two enhanced slaves, mindlessly digging a rectangular ditch to one side of a small clearing. On a bamboo frame, an enhanced slave wearing a common collar was bound, her eyes clear as she saw them. She struggled against the fiber lashing her to the frame, the two ends ending in a pair of upturned stakes. She stopped, panting through her gag as her elbows moved, her wrists cuffed underneath her by her belt.

Frax lowered the still unconscious T'ara to the ground, looking around and counting ... twenty two other similar graves, the freshest one next to the one the two slaves were still digging, the dirt piled over a cloth tarp to make the grave air-tight, the points of the frame that a slave had been buried on driven into the ground. A'rel looked at Frax, eyes wide, as the slave on the frame tried to pull herself loose, trying to avoid being buried alive.

Touching her finger across her mask, Frax motioned, lifting the girl off, and replacing T'ara on the frame. A'rel made a strangling gesture, and Frax shook her head, mimed pulling at her cuffed wrists, then pointed at T'ara. Moving to the freshest grave, she patted her head and mimed tugging back the staked-down tarp, then taking a few deep breaths. The others nodded as the two slaves continued to dig. Moving to the bound girl, Frax started to untie the fiber lashing the girl's collar to the frame, while A'rel worked on her waist. Moving to her ankles, they moved the girl aside, crossing and tying her ankles. The rescued girl watched as they quickly tied T'ara in place, the grave was almost ready.

One slave stepped out of the meter-deep grave, placing her shovel next to her fellow Happy Slave. Picking up the frame, they turned it upside down, using a small sledge to hammer the stakes into the ground. Replacing it under a tree next to a pile of folded tarps, one spread it over the narrow grave, using the sledge to spike it down, while the other started to spread dirt over it. After they had moved down, Frax and A'rel started to dig underneath the tarp, to create air channels for the buried girl. As the two slaves in the work party finished, they continued to ignore Frax and A'rel, placing the shovels with the sledge, and calmly moving off, back to the compound as the three girls watched.

Once they had vanished through the trees, Frax motioned to A'rel, giving the 'Master' sign. The girl ran off through the trees, as Frax grabbed a shovel to enlarge the air holes, then moved to the more recent grave, to check. She tried to pull the tarp back, but wasn't strong enough. Instead, she dug a hole that could accommodate her head and shoulders, emerging with dirt in her hair. The rescued girl made a questioning noise, Frax shook her head, touching her collar lights and shaking her head again. Picking up the shovel, she sadly filled in the hole she had just dug, tamping it down.

------------------------

T'ara slowly awoke, realizing that she was bound, and feeling a knotted bit of cloth in her teeth and over her eyes. She pulled at her hands, and realized she seemed to be hanging, suspended upside down by her collar, slave belt and ankles. It was totally silent, and no light leaked through the tight cloth over her eyes. '_At least I'm not naked_,' she thought, feeling her small skirt with her cuffed hands as she waited, alone with her thoughts.

------------------------

A'rel ran, trying to avoid the paths where masters might be, trying to reach the main road. She had to stop and hide several times when she heard what she thought might be masters, then finally broke through the brush to find her Mistress and Frax' master standing, chatting while the three slaves knelt patiently by the side of the road. She knelt next to her Mistress, and waited until she looked at her, asking, "Where's Frax?" A'rel whimpered, making writing motions.

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
Windfall, West coast, Happy Slave: 15:18: (relative)  
_**------------------------

"You buried the girl for better security?" Eddie asked Frax, who nodded. The rescued slave's eyes went wide as she heard an American English accent, and she started to pull on her cuffs. Eddie looked over at her, "I am sorry, my dear. I cannot release you, however, I can make you more comfortable. Frax, please lash her ankles to the posts, I believe we shall need to call the police, the local law enforcement. The only question is how."

"One moment," Z'hann said, "This girl does not need to know this," and approached the bound slave, as Frax stepped away from her ankles. "Do not be concerned, I am merely putting you to sleep," and injected the girl. As the girl slumped, Z'hann continued, "The slave has figured out a way to operate her ship while wearing a slave implant and collar. Without doing so, the ship would not have followed her orders, even with the owner's wand." She extracted the metallic cylinder from where she had kept it in the girl's bag.

A'rel's eyes went wide, with a squeak, she motioned for the bag. Extracting the small metallic plate, she approached Frax, who extended her left leg. A'rel attached it to her sister slave's belt, running a light chain around her upper thigh so it covered the slave's implant on her left hip. Small lights came on, blinking yellow and green. Z'hann scanned it, "Most interesting. Not only are you now a male from the planet Teron, you own a starship." She gazed at the others, "I strongly suggest we keep this information quiet," she added, as she passed the Owner's wand to Frax.

Eddie waggled the fingers of his outstretched hand, Frax reluctantly passing over the wand to her master. "I will seek out this ship, and transfer ownership, as a slave is property herself, she certainly cannot own a ship," he said. Looking at Frax, he told her, "I have had entirely too stressful a day, dealing with ... _persons_ ... for whom death by torture is far too generous. It is unfortunately not over yet, and I do apologize in advance, but as you have repeatedly declined your freedom, I will treat you as a slave, as you desire." Her eyes were wide as he added, "You now have no name, not Nicheyev, not Frax, but your slave number of 94383, which is the only thing you will reply to. You will be treated, and perform, as the slave you wish to be, if you misbehave, you will be punished. Indeed, you may be punished for no other reason than I wish it, or that I am having a bad day. If I desire to sell you, I shall. Is that clearly understood, _slave_?"

She nodded, and he pulled her up by her collar, on her toes. "Slave, cuff yourself, from now on there are only four proper replies for you." He gazed into her eyes as he heard the click of her wrists being bound, and nodded. "Slave, your replies are 'Yes, sir,' or one whimper if gagged, 'No, sir,' or two whimpers if gagged, 'Sir, I do not understand,' if an instruction needs clarification, or 'Sir, I require...' and you will detail what is required to complete your task. Any other response is grounds for punishment." She whimpered once, and knelt as he dropped her. He rooted through her pack, clipping a slave leash on her neck and ratcheting it tight, and jerked her up by it. "Head up while you are being lead, slave, shoulders back, breasts thrust out." She did so as he walked about her, wincing as he tightened her cuffs. "I am allowing you to keep your sandals, slave, as a reward for rescuing the slave. I have not decided what to do with her as yet, I may sell her. You will walk one meter behind me and to my left. When I stop, you will kneel in that location." She moved over, and he nodded in approval, "Let us find my new ship," he said.

Z'hann asked, "Edward? What do you plan..."

"I plan," he said, "to deal with my slave as I wish, as you are doing with yours." He told 94383, "Proceed to the edge of the clearing, stop, kneel with your forehead to the ground and wait for me." She whimpered once, and hurried to do so as he walked in the opposite direction. He turned to watch the girl, as Z'hann hurried to meet him. He said nothing at first as 94383 knelt, feet arched so she could spring up instantly, her fists clenched behind her as they were held in black steel.

"Edward?" Z'hann asked as he regarded the girl. "Notice her fists," he said softly. "She does not like being treated like a slave, and I will treat her as one," he finally said. "Good. Let her hate and fear me, hopefully, she will ask for her freedom, I am only taking a page from the good Doctor Arkham's book." Z'hann looked at him, and he smiled, "Has Frax told you anything about me?"

------------------------

94383 hurried behind her Master, thinking, '_He's changed so, I wonder what happened to him_.' He stopped suddenly, whirling to face her, and she hurried to kneel. "Inadequate, slave," he snarled softly, "I told you back straight, head up and breasts thrust out. Apparently you cannot even do that correctly. _Restrict,_" and the girl jerked as he removed her will. Pulling the tight leash collar around her neck, he dropped the chain behind her, fixing it in her belt so her head was pulled back. "If I'm going to have a miserable day, so will you," he told her, "Follow, as quietly as you can. We need to sneak past them, I believe the landing area is just past those trees."

------------------------

There was only the single path Edward could see through the trees. Hoping the enhanced slaves he could see moving about would not say anything, he casually strolled through the compound, his slave hurrying to match his long-legged strides, the end of her leash dragging behind her in the sandy dirt as the windmill turned, the vanes creaking in the wind.

------------------------

A gravel path about ten or twelve feet wide snaked through the trees, thick enough to hide the landing area. Emerging from the trees, Eddie saw an off world enhanced slave occupied in cleaning the tan brick wall that rose about six feet, the upper quarter a bluish-green glazed tile. Seen through the woods, it would appear to be a sandy beach. She was slowly working her way down the slightly curving wall, having done about a third of the two hundred meter length, working with a scrub bucket and standing on the gravel path (which needed weeding) that ran along the length of the wall.

------------------------

More gravel surfaced the gallery behind the wall, with a four foot high concrete wall running parallel to the outer wall, following the gentle curves. Extending out into each fifty meter bay were low walls with wave-guides for the weather shields that protected each from the elements and corrosion endemic to a seaside facility. '_I doubt the windmill could have powered all that, and I do not hear a diesel generator_,' Eddie thought, looking through the well-scrubbed glass at the only occupied bay, the first one on the end. '_Still, it seems a well-built facility_,' he considered, with the racked umbilical hoses coiled neatly that could be connected to either side of a ship's bow. Snapping his fingers, he proceeded on as his slave leaped to her feet to follow him.

------------------------

Walking about his new ship, he considered it, the belly mounted paired guns, (and presumably on top), the single barreled one under the slightly protruding glass of the bridge module that faced out to sea, the quad-guns on port and starboard. About... (he paced it off) sixty feet long by wide, it was roughly hexagonal in shape. The umbilicals were connected to a plate on the starboard side, next to a firmly closed personnel lock, the aft cargo hatch also locked.

'_Hmm_,' he considered wordlessly, crouching to inspect the undercarriage. The ship sat about three feet off the ground on what looked like a standard private jet's wheel assembly, the only glaring difference was a plate that looked like it could rotate down for landing in snow or other soft surfaces. Standing, he snapped his fingers at his slave, she hurried to him from the wall where he had knelt her next to the umbilicals, the lights on the hatch changing at her approach. Thrusting the owner's wand in her waistband, he said, "Open hatch."

Lights blinked, a small stepladder extended as the hatch opened. As he puzzled out the inner lock, the girl whimpered, her trailing chain had caught on one of the steps. She knelt, half in and out of the hatch, unable to follow him.

"You cannot even board a ship," he sighed. Taking a step, he picked her up, dropping her on her belly and wrapping the end of the chain around her ankles, hogtying her. She squeaked once, and he said, "That was in agreement with your inadequate performance so far, I presume." She whimpered as he picked her up, the outer lock closed as the inner hatch opened. Taking a few strides in, he flung her over his shoulder, his left hand gripping the owner's wand as he stabilized her. "We need to find the Master's cabin," he said as he took off.

------------------------

"Ah, here we are," he said, dropping the girl to the deck like a sack. Thrusting the wand back in the girl's belt, he said, "Computer, authenticate. List free persons on board this ship and their status."

The computer twittered, then said, "Owner M'ir'am Lebo of Teron, Edward Nigma of Unknown."

"Owner M'ir'am Lebo of Teron wishes to transfer all interest and accounts of this ship to Edward Nigma," Eddie said. "Edward Nigma will have sole ownership of this ship, her accounts, cargo and interest. Record transfer."

"Authorization required from M'ir'am Lebo of Teron," the computer replied. Eddie looked at the girl, and when she stayed silent, moved toward her. She tried to squirm away as he looked at her, squeaking in panic.

"Unintelligible response."

Panicking, the slave tried to shout through her restrictive mask, "YMF! YMF! GMD, YMF!" as she lurched to her knees, toppling over to lie on her front, face toward the terminal.

"Authorization recorded, transfer recorded."

The slave stopped, head dropping to the steel deck in relief as her master toed her onto her back. Plucking the wand from her belt, he picked her up and set her next to the terminal. He told her softly, "You disobeyed me, and will be punished. For now, you will copy the files you stole from the Happy Slave people to my ship. The faster you do so, the lesser your punishment. Z'hann said it took quite a while initially, if you can do so in five minutes or less, I will forgo your punishment for your delays. Understood?" She nodded, and he sighed, "A nod is not an authorized reply from you. You have just increased your punishment for disobedience." She whimpered once, and he removed the chain binding her ankles, and connected her temple to the computer. Pulling on her left leg, she stretched it out, he removed the plate covering her hip implant.

"Computer, create a directory in my personal file storage called '94383'." The computer twittered, and he asked, "Who are the occupants of this cabin?"

"Owner Edward Nigma of Unknown, and slave 94383."

"Create a data path for file copy from slave 94383 and the directory 94383 in my personal file storage." The computer twittered again, he added, "The slave 94383 will have access to read, write, and list files, but does not have delete permissions. These are the only permission slave 94383 is allowed." The computer twittered again, he added, "Display a timer to start and end when file copy begins and ends." He looked at her, and told her, "Begin."

She stiffened and became motionless as two windows displayed on the screen. He gently moved her leg back, looping the chain around it again, and stood, stretching as he picked up the small plate that had proved so very useful. He walked about, opening various drawers and finding an assortment of female clothing from the captured girl, a few weapons, and other miscellaneous items. Sitting on the bunk, he pulled off his boots and jumpsuit, emptying the pockets as he dropped it in the recycler for cleaning.

------------------------

Feeling much better after a shower, and wearing clean clothes, he sat at the workstation, watching the files scroll past. Rubbing his chin, he asked, "Computer, do you have access to slave 94383's control chips?" In response, a window popped open, with four tabs along the top, labeled System, Owner, slave, and 94383. "Hmm," he said. "Computer, is it possible to restrict access to the different accounts in System without impairing the function of the subsystems? I do not wish to stop things like..." he looked at the menu, "respiration or cardiac function, but being able to lock things like skeletal movement would be useful."

The computer flashed several icons, "These subsystems can be restricted without impairing function," it said.

"Excellent," he said, glancing at the timer, which read 5:41. '_Poor girl is really going to hate me, but that is the idea behind this..._' he thought. "Computer, lock out those highlighted accounts, giving System and Owner access. Next, restrict access to the 94383 account to Owner." The computer chirped, Eddie eyed Frax to make sure she continued to breathe. Touching the side of her neck, he was reassured to feel a strong pulse. "Computer, let me see the default settings for the 'restrict' and 'release' commands..."

------------------------

10:16, the timer read when the file copy finished. Eddie looked up, rubbing his chin again, as he said, "Computer, close data channel to slave 94383. Write final changes and release connections." He reached out to remove the slim orange cable from her temple as she slumped, then jerked back upright as she remembered his command.

"I am pleased with you, slave," he said. "You managed to capture quite a bit of information. Together with what we can discover on this ship, we should do well. You may relax a bit." He turned and regarded her, "I am willing to be generous with you. I realize that you copied the files as quickly as possible, even though you ran over the five minute mark." Her eyes widened, and she whimpered. "I am a reasonable man, you have no control over the data rate, and you were most thorough. You will not be punished for something you have no control over, as I am not punishing you for your garbled response to the computer. You are, after all, a gagged slave." She relaxed, and he said, "However, you were a disobedient slave on two occasions, and therefore must be punished. I will give you the choice of five seconds at level two, or ten seconds at level one. Indicate with a whimper."

She hesitated, then whimpered once. "Five seconds at level two it is. You recall your infractions?" She gave a hesitant whimper, and he said, "You nodded instead of whimpering, and you were slow to attempt the confirmation request. Do you recall these, slave?" She whimpered again, and he said, "Lie down, girl. I do not wish you to injure yourself."

------------------------

Every nerve was on fire, she couldn't breathe, it went on and on, endlessly agonizing, and then it stopped. She cursed the control board in her brain that didn't allow her to pant, didn't allow her heart to race, pulled at her cuffed wrists as she looked up through her hair at her master. He looked sad, telling her, "That was five seconds at level two, slave. I did not enjoy that, as I am sure you did not either." She whimpered twice, emphatically, as he asked, "Will the lesson need to be repeated?" She whimpered twice again, he said, "When you feel able to stand, I will suction your bodily waste, and you will get a sonic shower. I am certain there are various nooks and crannies that you would like to clean, like sand in a swim suit." She snorted, giving a whimper, then pausing. He cracked a small smile, "I didn't hear anything, slave." She gave a small whimper, then pushed back against the bulkhead, bracing herself, her leash chain once more in front as he stood, releasing her hands.

------------------------

"Feel better?" he asked her, and she whimpered, shaking out her hair. "A clean slave is a happy slave," he added. "You will pardon the pun. 'Restrict,'" he told her, and her hands flashed behind her, cuffs ratcheting closed as she dropped into a crouch, knees wide for stability, balancing on her toes, back straight and head up, breasts thrust forward, the leash chain dropping neatly between. "Can you move?" he asked. Her eyes wide, she whimpered twice. "I modified the default stance and restricted your access to your various implants, among other things. I do not like the thought of you having unfettered access to various ship's systems. Until I decide otherwise, you are simply another enhanced slave, 94383." She whimpered once, and he said, "I am aware that you have been keeping a 'diary' file of sorts in your pretty head. You may continue to do so," and she relaxed a bit. He continued, "I will expect complete honesty from you, you are after all, a slave. I am not one to 'shoot the messenger', if there is a problem, I wish to know about it." She whimpered again, and he concluded, "I may punish you for any reason, or no reason. You are my slave, my property, you have only such liberties as I grant you. You are totally dependent on me for food, water, and air, for your very life. Indeed, I may gamble you away, or sell you on a whim. Indeed, I do not think you quite realize your situation, slave. 'Pain one'," and she stiffened, still locked in place as she toppled over. "'End pain, release' he said, and she glared at him, then looked down.

"I did not see that glare, slave," he said. "However, I trust this illustrates my point, that I do not need a reason to hurt you, you are slave." He stood, pulling her to her feet by her leash chain. "You are much more attractive with this chain."

------------------------

As the door of the small slave cell banged shut, the white-haired slave heard the 'thunk' of the heavy secondary locks, followed by the snap of a padlock. "Relax, slave. Rest, you'll need to work again shortly," her master said.

'_I'm supposed to 'rest'_?' she asked herself, pulling at her wrists, still cuffed behind her. She sighed, '_At least I'm not in a neck ring_,' she admitted to herself, rolling on the steel deck in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position. '_That's bad on the knees. However, face down pinches my nips in their chains, on my back squeezes my wrists in the cuffs, sitting digs that irritating little valve for my pee-pipe into my pelvis. Face it, girl, the only comfortable position is kneeling_.' She stood briefly to untangle her leash-chain from where it locked her to a ring, then resumed her kneeling pose, '_Why did Master Eddie do that_?' she wondered. '_Even if my hands were free, and I could reach the door, I can't unlock it; it makes no sense_.' She snorted through her nose, '_I wish I could ask him_!'

Sighing to herself, '_Must be psychological_,' she mused. '_He's changed so completely, I wish I knew why_.' She sat back, '_Master said he changed some things, let's see now..._' She could feel her fingers wiggling, and did some careful exploration of her mind. '_I can't feel ... anything! It's all gone! I can't get to any of it_!' she thought with something close to panic. Pulling at her leash chain, she backed to where she could see a polished steel panel. On her knees, back to the door, she could just see herself over her left shoulder. Shaking her curtain of white hair back, she could see the white line of the scar on her hip from her implant that declared her slave. Grimacing, she saw no movement in the heavy black gag that encased the lower half of her face. She wiggled her fingers, held behind her by the black steel of her slave cuffs, the taut chain of her leash leading to the heavy silver steel on her neck under her chin. Under that, above the black steel of the neck ring supporting the chains holding up her breasts, the lights of her collar stayed green and yellow, the lights of a convict, a slave.

------------------------

'_I should not be enjoying this_,' Eddie chastised himself as he watched the slave gaze into the reflective metal. He touched a control and zoomed in, watching the small silver bells suspended in the black metal in the slave's nipples ring as she breathed, her eyes wide. '_Still, she is an attractive girl, if our positions were different... Ah, Edward, it cannot be..._' he thought, '_I would give a great deal to know what she is thinking_,' as the girl started to throw herself backward against her taut chain, her elbows moving as she tugged helplessly at her cuffed wrists. Sighing, he minimized the window and touched the comm screen to make the first call.

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
Windfall, West Coast, Happy Slave: 18:20: (relative)  
_**------------------------

"What kin I do f' you, Cap'n?" Gix rumbled from the comm screen.

"I wished to let you know of the situation as it relates to you," Eddie said from his cabin. "The Happy Slave people have been breaking several local laws, we shall no doubt be owed a favor or two by the local authorities. I intend to redeem one of them in requesting your manumission."

Gix nodded, "I'd make another one gettin' rid of those silly masks th' girls gotta wear."

"Precisely," Eddie agreed. "While their desire to prevent the spread of disease is understandable, the cloth masks alone can do that. Forcing every one of their female slaves to wear a gag is simply keeping them down even beyond their existing enslavement." He took a sip of water, "While I can see gagging a slave for her discipline, wearing a gag for the rest of her life is foolish. That is why I will seek a license to allow my slaves to simply use a cloth mask."

"Makes sense," the large fellow agreed from the screen. "We've had a lot o' th' slaves ask to be sold here," he added.

Eddie grunted, "Any slaves I leave here will be as covert employees, I can see several markets here, both for exports and imports."

"What d' y' mean, 'covert employees', Cap'n?"

"I am opposed to the institution of slavery," Eddie replied. "Unfortunately, those are the cards I have been dealt. If I return them to my homeworld, the enhanced slaves are likely to be exploited. If I invest in this economy, I can maintain them here as 'slaves' while paying them a wage. They will remain as my property, which will protect them, as there is apparently no legal mechanism for freeing an offworld female slave."

He took another sip, "This is why I will seek not only custody of the existing Happy Slaves, but also this compound and associated properties. I can place this as a 'foreign trade office' of some sort, the locals are welcome to open a customs and duty office. I need the advice of a local attorney in order to set things up properly." He regarded Gix, "Therefore, I will need you to take charge of the slaves, including ours, and treat them as slaves, especially 94383."

Gix looked puzzled, "I don' think I remember her."

"Formerly known as Frax," Eddie explained. "The white-haired slave," he elucidated, and Gix nodded. "I have been following a policy of 'strict but fair' with her, trying to break her of her enjoyment of her enslavement. I have been very pleased with Frax, however I do not wish you to indicate this. I am treating her as a slave, and have been calling her by her number, 94383. I would appreciate your doing so as well, I am weary of her enjoying her slavery, thinking it is some sort of holiday. I am trying to make it as 'un-fun' as possible, with the goal that she finally asks for her freedom."

"At which point y' deny it," the large being rumbled.

"At which point I deny it," Eddie agreed. "She must earn what she has. When she finally begs for her freedom, I shall grant it." He eyed the other man, "As you know, I detest the thought of mind control. However, as Z'hann would say, she has woven her cocoon, she must sleep in it. She wanted a slave collar, she has one now, she is an enhanced slave." He took a drink, "I am currently working to increase her frustration level."

"Where is she now?" Gix asked.

Eddie waved, "In a slave cell, she is after all a slave. I may arrange a false sale for her."

"Temp'rary, t' help break her?" Gix asked.

Eddie nodded, "I gave my word I would return her to our homeworld. I might take her by a slave market."

'Ta make it un-fun," Gix said. "Slavers been doin' it f' years ta break slaves. Y'd get her back, her sale'd be arranged, be more expensive, though. Two, three times her normal sellin' price. What do y' want me to do?"

"In a few minutes, we will be flying back to the main island, where we will be picking up a squad of the local law enforcement, the Investigators. I plan to get what I can, the planet is at risk from our friends at WorkForce, and these are good people. By improving their economy, they stand a better chance. For now, you must resume the identity of a mere slave."

"'Been wearin' a scarf, so we're th' only ones who know," the massive fellow said, "Master," he added with a grin.

------------------------

Eddie sat for a few minutes, devising alternatives to his plan. Quite a bit centered on Frax, but she had to be in the proper frame of mind. He sighed to himself, '_I must abuse the poor girl's mind, however, I cannot abide her enjoying her enslavement. I do not think Z'hann's suggestion for peer pressure will work, she must first despise her enslavement before that can reinforce her attitude_.' He looked at the window that showed the slave in her cell, she was currently laying face down, legs spread a few inches. Small movements indicated she was still alive, presumably resting or sleeping. '_She has had a long day_,' Eddie thought. '_Unfortunately, it is not over, but I can give her a few more minutes_.'

------------------------

"Awaken, slave, I have need of you," Eddie said, shaking her shoulder gently. "Ms. Nicheyev? Frax? 94383?" She only mumbled something unintelligible and squirmed a bit as she slept. Eddie raised an eyebrow, thinking '_I truly hate to do this, but I need her_,' and said, "Slave 94383, pain one."

------------------------

A horrible blast of pain shattered her dream, and the slave jolted awake, rolling over on her back. She looked up through her hair, and saw her master crouching over her. "I do apologize for waking you so brutally, but you were unresponsive, and I had to improvise an alarm clock." He gave her a minute to collect herself, extending a hand to assist her to sit. "Can you stand?" She whimpered once, then got her feet under her, looking over her shoulder at the racked hoses that enabled slaves to suction waste.

"Indeed," he chuckled. "Always the first stop. Do you require my assistance, or can you manage it?" She whimpered twice, turning to present her cuffed wrists to him. He stood, releasing her, then pulled her hair away from her, draping it over her front. "You are a very attractive slave," he said softly, and she whimpered once, stroking her steel-covered groin. "I am sorry, my dear, but it would be ... inappropriate, no matter how much we both might wish it." He played with her hair a bit more, "Once you have finished, come forward to the flight deck, and do not re-cuff yourself." He lifted her chin, "You realize that there is no place for you to run?" She looked up at him, giving a sad little whimper.

------------------------

The hatch hissed open at her approach, her master turning in the command chair, a mug of tea in his hands. He gestured at the helm, "Please, my dear. I took the liberty of preparing a cup for you. As I do not know your tea preferences, the only thing I can add is a straw to enable you to drink. If it is not to your liking, feel free to recycle it, you are not required to drink it." She turned the seat, only to see a legal pad and pencil on it. She raised her eyebrow, he explained, "It will be a while before we are quit of this planet, and I can release you from that gag. You need some method of communicating more complex thoughts than 'Yes' and 'No', hence the legal pad." She gave a more drawn-out whimper, and he added somewhat jokingly, "Unless you wish to communicate in binary." She answered with a definite double whimper.

------------------------

She took a sip of tea as she studied the board. The layout was different than the _Query. 'Good tea, but it needs something, I'm not sure what_,' she mused. '_And me without a pilot's license_,' she thought with amusement, setting down her tea and picking up her pad.

_Master, I thank you for the tea._

_  
Once I start the engines, you must remove the docking umbilicals. _

"I commanded the computer to start them," he said. "Please do so," he added, reading her note, then passing it back.

She found the appropriate controls, writing,_They will be ready in a minute, they were in warm standby, Master. Good for a quick escape if need be. May I have a few touch-and-go landings? This is __completely _(she underlined the word)_ different from the Query. _

"You may, once we take off," he said. "For now, you will cuff yourself to the chair while I remove the umbilicals." She immediately reached back, worked her cuffs through the open seat back, and he saw her snap her wrists in the cuffs, confining her to the pilot's seat. Looking down, she pushed the ankle shackles with her foot, making a querying whimper.

"Not at this time," he replied. "I trust you to a limited extent, but not enough to give you unfettered access to a starship." She whimpered once in agreement, raising her eyebrow. He waved at the board, she resumed her study as he left.

------------------------

"I do believe we are clear to proceed," he said, releasing her hands. As she rubbed her wrists, he continued, "Find a nice beach on another island and do your touch-and-go landings. When you feel reasonably confident, we need to proceed to the north side of the island, where we shall pick up an assortment of law enforcement. For now, leave as quickly and quietly as possible, we don't wish the Happy Slave people to know we have left."

She nodded, only after a minute giving a distracted whimper as she concentrated. '_I shall ignore that one_,' Eddie thought, watching her as she worked.

------------------------  
**_Monday, October 22, 2001:  
Windfall, West coast, Happy Slave: 19:41: (relative)  
_**------------------------

While one Investigator secured the slaves working in the compound, others went through the unlocked rear entrance, securing slaves indoors, as well as the few free persons. Six went down the path, securing both the slaves in the grave site and further down the path, a clandestine tungsten mine that disappeared into the hillside.

"We appreciate the tip, and the transport, Captain," the grey-haired Senior Investigator said. She looked around the small ship, "The slave killed her master and stole his implant?" She gave a low whistle, "Gutsy. He must have been a real sick one."

"Looking through the ship's logs, I really can't blame her," Eddie said. "I hope the court will take that into account. I would like to testify in her favor."

"Oh, you'll be called to testify," she said with a chuckle.

"Might I ask how testimony is taken?"

"Truth drug, if they're charged with anything, or they're slaves," she said. "One of the local fish gives a particular type of venom, diluted we've found it a very potent drug. They can then speak for themselves in court if they're charged with anything."

"I see," he said. "I would like to volunteer the services of my healer, as you have more than one species of slave, and problems might arise. We also have a med-tank, although you would need to relocate to my ship. My other ship," he corrected.

"I'll pass that up to the Learned One, although I think he'd agree," she said.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, October 23, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Greenhouse Four: 12:00 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

The bell rang for the end of class, and the fourth-years started to pack up their things. Professor Sprout called, "Don't forget, two pages on Gurdyroot by next week!" As Mattie finished washing the dragon dung off her gloves, the professor asked, "Miss Wayne, a moment? Your friends will get your things."

"Yes, ma'am," she said as she disappeared into her office. Arthur looked at Sprink, who shrugged. "She was looking for a plant that they could use on the moon. She'll probably be a while."

Arthur looked irritated, "I was hoping for some alone-time. I wanted to ask her to the dance."

"Mate, you haven't asked her yet? It's next week!" Charlie said, surprised.

"Unlike _some_ people, I'd like to have a little more class than sending an email," he replied, adding, "While I enjoy dancing with you, Sprink, you're not my girlfriend."

"Thank you, and the email did work," Sprink replied with a giggle. She hefted Mattie's bags, as Charlie carried his girlfriend's, adding, "Better hurry, mate. She has gotten other offers, and Professor Snape said she could go to London this afternoon."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, October 23, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, lobby: 12:44 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"G'afternoon, ladies," the guard said as Anne walked in with Mattie. "Miss Bundy, there's a note here, you've a package you need to pick up in Security."

"I shall proceed there apace, and I doth thank you," Anne replied, turning to go down the short corridor as Mattie continued on to the lifts.

------------------------

"Anything interesting in the mail?" Mattie asked, taking Anne's visitor's chair, cup of coffee in her hands.

"Aye," Anne said, passing over the short notes that had been included.

_October 10, 2001 _

_Massachusetts Institute of Technology _

_Office of the President _

_Cambridge, MA 02139 USA_

_Miss Bundy, _

_I have asked the Applied Physics department for an evaluation of your patents, and their recommendations regarding your study here at the Institute. Assuming their favorable recommendation, I look forward to your presence this summer. _

_Please forward the enclosed letter to Miss Wayne regarding security. _

_October 16, 2001 _

_Massachusetts Institute of Technology _

_EECS, Area IV, Department of Applied Physics _

_Cambridge, MA 02139 USA_

_Miss Bundy, _

_The president alerted me to your interest in studying at the Institute this summer. I have examined the work on file at the Royal Patent office, and was most impressed with your work. It is unusual to have one, not to mention six at your age. I look forward to working with you. _

_Institute Professor M.F. Chung '63_

_Department Chair _

There was an enclosed coffee mug from the Physics department, and an envelope labeled, 'Miss Wayne, Arrowhead Investments' that Anne passed over. Popping out a blade, Mattie slit the envelope, studying the letter.

"Might I go?" Anne asked shyly.

"Possibly," Mattie said slowly. "As I said, my primary concern is your security, Anne. I want to go over this with Mr. Thompson and SO1. For now, I'd suggest you make copies of those notes for Karen and the Personnel office, and Professor Snape."

"I shall, and I must express my gratitude. You hath done ever so much for me since I arrived here. I hath achieved things I could never have dreamed of in my own time."

"But...," Mattie prompted.

Anne nodded, "But this is something I must do. I cannot allow my horizons be limited to Hogwarts or to Arrowhead or even to you. At some point, I will have to stand on my own and this is an opportunity to learn how."

"I'm not trying to stop you from standing on your own." Anne tented her fingers until Mattie admitted, "Well, maybe a little. You've never lived on your own, you haven't even shopped for groceries! All I'm saying is that you have backup, which is why I think Karen should go with you. Not to control you, but to help you." She sighed, "I have no problems with your going, or paying for it. However, not only are you an employee, you're a friend, Anne, you watched out for me in the 14th century. I'm concerned with your safety."

"S'trewth," Anne said in mock-seriousness. "I do expect to fall a few times before I master standing. Then a few more times as I learn to walk and then run. Even if I fail, I must try, for if I fail to try, then I have lost 'ere I start."

"I think you're exaggerating a bit, but why should I deny you something I'd fight like hell for if it were denied me?"

"Thank you."

"Doesn't mean you, or we, shouldn't exercise caution."

"Certainly not."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, October 24, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 07:05 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Sprink looked up as the Headmistress tapped her knife on her goblet. "May I have your attention, please?" She looked around, "Thank you. As you are aware, next Wednesday is Halloween, and our annual Halloween ball. Fourth-years and up, and any lower years who are invited will attend." She waited for the usual murmuring to fade out, "As such, it is a formal event, and formal attire, both wizarding and muggle, is appropriate. That includes, for those of you who qualify, dress swords for both ladies and gentlemen. Therefore, in order for last-minute preparations to take place, I am cancelling classes next Wednesday. Those needing to leave school please contact your Heads. Thank you."

As Minerva sat back down, Sprink wondered, "Swords? Who..."

Anne cleared her throat, "Ladies in my time did'st not wear them, but times have changed. I shall need to inquire, though I doth not rank as high as my date."

"You have a date? Who?"

"Aye, I doth," Anne replied, ignoring Sprink's second question.

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, October 24, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Potions class: 14:50: (GMT)  
_**------------------------

There was a knock on the door, Professor Snape frowned as he waved his wand to unseal it. The Headmistress stood there, she came in, casting a quick privacy spell as the class watched out of the corners of their eyes. As the spell was banished, Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat, "Would the Cortez ladies come with me?"

Shaundra and Roshawn looked at each other, "Ma'am, our potions..."

"Go with the Headmistress," Professor Snape said. "You will not be counted off for them, due to the... circumstances." He made a motion, almost gently, "Go."

"Ma'am, what's wrong?" Roshawn asked.

Minerva looked distinctly upset. "They've... they've found your mother," she said, as the girls screamed and collapsed.

------------------------  
**_Heaven (Unspecifed)  
_**------------------------

"I thought I'd find you here, Bruce," the large angel said as he turned a library chair around and straddled it.

Bruce Wayne cocked an eyebrow, grunted "Gabriel", and went back to his reading.

"You could socialize more..." the angel said. "We do have poker games, you know."

"Not interested," Bruce mumbled.

The angel sighed and fingered the tiny silver trumpet affixed to his robes. "Very well. You put in to be notified if any of your relatives were about to..."

"Mattie's still too young," Bruce snapped, his glare penetrating. "It must be Barbara. Will the infant be healthy?"

"Why don't ... oh, all right, Bruce. You've got right of first refusal, and yes, the infant will be healthy." Gabriel grinned, "Aren't you interested in minor things like the name or sex?" In reply Bruce stood and started to stack books. Gabriel 'tisked' and waved a hand, the books floated off to the shelves. "Come with me."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, October 25, 2001:  
Columbus, Ohio, Columbus College of Art & Design: 14:18 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"I think your perspective is off, Miss Morton," the instructor said, looking over Teela's shoulder.

Shaking her head, she said, "No, there really is no sense of distance on the moon. The craters do look like rolling ocean waves, Apollo astronauts had the same experience." She motioned with her pencil, "It's not finished yet, I need to put in some boulders."

The instructor opened his mouth to say something, then remembered, '_She's been there. She's walked on the moon. God, I'm jealous_,' and shook his head. "Carry on, then."

------------------------

_To: Minerva McGonagall  
Filius Flitwick  
Cho Chang  
Poppy Pomfrey  
Narcissa Black  
CC: Severus Snape  
From: Mattie Wayne  
Date: 25 October, 2001  
Subject: Charms and wizard needed_

_I've recently become aware of a problem that I hope can be resolved fairly easily. As you are aware, we have rescued several hundred slaves. These slaves are locked into a 'slave belt' which is composed of some extremely tough alloy. This secures them sexually for their owners' use, it also serves as a restriction on other bodily functions such as elimination. The slaves must connect a suction device, they cannot use a toilet such as we can. _

_The metal this alloy is composed of resists attack by any number of saws and cutting torches. We cannot go further along this line without killing the girl. I am therefore looking for three things that can release these girls: _

_1.) A spell or charm that can dissolve/transfigure/morph the waist band of this belt.  
2.) A spell or charm that will restore the muscle tone of the abused muscles. This would be preferable to a potion, as this will likely be performed without the resource of a potion lab, and carrying a potion would involve questions we do not wish to answer.  
3.) Suggestions on witches/wizards that are willing to travel as Muggles worldwide to our various relocation centers and treat these girls. Costs would of course be borne by the Solar Guard. _

_Ms. Martha Wayne  
Damiyo, Solar Guard _

------------------------  
**_Friday, October 26, 2001:  
Gotham City, Midtown Medical Plaza: 10:40: (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Barbara pulled open the glass door to her OB/GYN's office, telling the nurse, "I'm Mrs. Grayson, I have a 10:45 appointment."

"Sign in, please," the older black nurse said, handing over a clipboard. She turned to give a black bag to a middle – aged fellow wearing a white shirt and black tie that was emblazoned 'Gotham Courier'. The courier nodded politely at Barbara, who handed the clipboard back to the nurse, finding a seat and picking up an old copy of _Style_ magazine.

------------------------

"I'm what?" Barbara asked.

"Pregnant. With child. The strip is blue, the cross is showing. Knocked up. Want some more?" the doctor said with a touch of humor. "Congratulations. This is your first, isn't it?" Barbara nodded dumbly, "Well, let me run a quick test for Down's Syndrome. I just extract some amniotic fluid and we'll find out in fifteen minutes or so." She patted Barbara's shoulder. "Lean back, dear."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, October 27, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 8:20: (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Mattie, wait up!"

She turned, Arthur ran up to her, puffing a bit. She grinned, poked his belly, "We'll need to work on that. What is it, I've got an appointment in Diagon at 8:30 for a fitting."

"I've been trying to get some alone-time with you all week," he said. "Will you go to the Halloween ball with me?"

"Well... I have gotten other offers..." she said, an impish smile on her lips. She draped her arms around his shoulders, "Which I turned down. I would love to go with you, but..." she put a fingertip on his nose, "Remember McGonagall said formal dress?" He nodded, "That means as a _Damiyo_, a military commander, I'm wearing a uniform _and_ a sword, with my robes. You good with that?"

"Yeah, it should be interesting, as long as you remember I lead," he said with a grin. "But..." he hesitated, casting a privacy spell, "You said I was your Bat." She looked into his eyes and nodded. "Then I need to know, I need to know what you do."

"I spent all that money on the damned dress," she complained softly as she looked into his eyes, thinking. "A couple of conditions," she finally said. "If you want that level of clearance, your entire family is going to go through an _extensive_ background check." She shifted her arms on his shoulders. "We know about the Feds watching your family, we need to see who else is interested. Neither one of us will know – we don't have need to know, but your Dad will. Good enough?" He nodded. "You can let him know to expect a visit, then. By the way, tell Julie to choose a better password. Secondly, neither you or I have need to know about Guard Intelligence operations, who our agents are. Lady Sarah and Ms. Judith do, I only see a summary. That refers to the agents by number, like 94383."

"I think I know who Lady Sarah is, but who's Ms. Judith?"

"She's Mossad," his girlfriend replied. "We have professionals running our Intelligence operations, from agencies like MI6 and the BND. I will say that their area of operations extends from 200 kilometers up and out."

"'Out'?" he asked.

"'Out'," she replied, looking up. "Lastly, I want you to go off planet with me this summer. Sprink and Charlie are already signed on. You need to know what it's like. I'll arrange for weapons training, but I really have to go," she reached up to kiss the tip of his nose. He banished his spell as she turned and left, a garment bag over her shoulder.

------------------------

"Julie, can I have a word?"

"Sure," she said, moving off to join her older brother. He cast a privacy spell, asking her, "You remember the trip home last year?"

"Vividly," she said. She looked up at him, "What's going on?"

"I asked Mattie for her level of clearance with the Guard, I need to know," he said, and her eyes were wide. "She said that our family would be investigated by professionals, we won't know what they find out, but Dad would. He needs to know that he'll get a visit."

"'Professionals'?" she asked.

"Intelligence professionals, from agencies like MI6. She also mentioned the BND, I think they're German, and the Mossad."

"Heavy. Very heavy," she breathed. "Anything else?"

"Change your password, and any encryption you're using with Mom. She specifically mentioned that. I also apparently need weapons training, she wants me to go off-planet with her, Charlie and Sprink this summer."

"I'm jealous," she admitted. "I want to go, but I wanna know, have you given it to her yet?"

"I've had enough trouble getting her alone for five minutes to ask her to the dance," he admitted. "Hopefully next week at the dance."

"Better," she judged. "More romantic," she said with a smile. "I've got some email to send."

"You do that. I gotta get going, I'm already late."

'_For what_?' Julie thought as her brother cancelled the privacy spell and quickly left the Great Hall.

------------------------

_To: Momma Morton (home)  
From: Julie Morton  
Date: 27 October, 2001  
Subject: News_

_8,10,27_

_Uv, Zbz naq Qnq! _

_N ovg bs arjf: Neguhe fgvyy unfa'g tbggra gur punapr gb tvir Znggvr gur cebzvfr evat. Ur'f tbvat gb jnvg hagvy gur Unyybjrra onyy. Ur'f nyfb vaibyirq va fbzr fbeg bs erfrnepu guvat, ur jba'g gnyx nobhg vg (nf hfhny). Neguhe fnvq fur jnagf uvz gb tb jvgu ure, Fcevax naq Puneyvr bss cynarg guvf fhzzre, fb gurl pna frr jung vg'f yvxr bhg gurer va gur jvqr tnynkl._

_Ur cnffrq ba n zrffntr sebz Znggvr. Fvapr ur jnagf gur fnzr yriry bs npprff gung fur unf jvgu gur Fbyne Thneq (gb or ure pbafpvrapr, ur fnlf, abg gung V guvax fur arrqf vg), jr'er nyy tbvat gb or vairfgvtngrq. Jr jba'g xabj jung gurl svaq bhg, ohg gurl'yy pbagnpg Qnq, fb ur arrqf gb rkcrpg n gerapu-pbng jrnevat fcl gb znxr pbagnpg. _

_Zbz, lbh abgvprq V punatrq gur rapelcgvba xrl. Guvf jnf nyfb Znggvr'f fhttrfgvba, nccneragyl. Ba nabgure abgr, ner lbh cynaavat gb pbzr ivfvg nebhaq Rnfgre sbe gur Vagreangvbany Dhvqqvgpu gbhearl? Jr'er qbvat ibgvat ba gur qvssrerag cynlref, V qvqa'g rira xabj Ovyy jnf ba gur Uhssyrchss grnz! V xabj Unax naq Zvfgl jbhyq yvxr gb pbzr, Zvfgl orpnhfr fur'f arire frra gur tnzr orsber, bhe qrfpevcgvbaf qba'g qb vg whfgvpr. _

_Gung'f nyy gur fcl-fghss arjf, jr'yy fraq lbh abezny rznvy zrffntrf yngre._

_Ybir ln nyy!_

_Whyvr_

_(Cleartext) _

_Hi, Mom and Dad!  
A bit of news: Arthur still hasn't gotten the chance to give Mattie the promise ring. He's going to wait until the Halloween ball. He's also involved in some sort of research thing, he won't talk about it (as usual). Arthur said she wants him to go with her, Sprink and Charlie off planet this summer, so they can see what it's like out there in the wide galaxy._

_He passed on a message from Mattie. Since he wants the same level of access that she has with the Solar Guard (to be her conscience, he says, not that I think she needs it), we're all going to be investigated. We won't know what they find out, but they'll contact Dad, so he needs to expect a trench-coat wearing spy to make contact. _

_Mom, you noticed I changed the encryption key. This was also Mattie's suggestion, apparently. On another note, are you planning to come visit around Easter for the International Quidditch tourney? We're doing voting on the different players, I didn't even know Bill was on the Hufflepuff team! I know Hank and Misty would like to come, Misty because she's never seen the game before, our descriptions don't do it justice. _

_That's all the spy-stuff news, we'll send you normal email messages later._

_Love ya all!  
Julie_

------------------------  
**_Saturday, October 27, 2001:  
London, Diagon Alley, Parv & Lav's Robes: 8:37: (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Oww!"

"I told you not to move," the Indian witch told her client. She blew out her hair, "I don't know how I'm supposed to make matte black work with purple robes."

"Sorry," Mattie said, as she stood on the stand, arms outstretched in a black uniform. "It's light purple, by the way."

"I know, I read the papers, I watch telly," Parvati replied. She adjusted the collar points, and stepped back, "What about that sword, where does it go?"

"I've got two, a longer one that goes over the back, or a shorter katana that hangs from the waist," the Damiyo sighed. "This is a formal occasion, I suppose I should wear the longer one."

"You're not Japanese, you just have to wear a sword. Can I see it?"

"In the garment bag," Mattie replied. Parvati opened it up, "Which is the katana?"

"The shorter one, it uses a two handed grip," Mattie replied. "Careful, it's magically sharpened and strengthened. It was made by a wizarding swordsmith outside Kyoto." She grinned, "It's surprising how useful a sword is off planet. I think I'll issue them to officers. I don't think he'll mind the business."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, October 27, 2001:  
Dorset, 1 Assault Group, Royal Marines: 10:11: (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Good enough, you pass, Morton," the Sargent told Arthur. He nodded, panting, and grabbed a bottle of water to hydrate after his run as he joined the other students.

"Right, you lot," Leftenent Martin said. "Next, you're going to go a round or two with my sensei, the good Sargent York here. Morton, you were last in, you're first up."

Arthur stood, dropping his half finished bottle of water in the trash, and bowed to the Sargent, yellow belt hanging from his side.

------------------------

"I suppose you'll do," the Sargent sighed, then winked. He motioned to Arthur, who stood as the Sargent tied a green belt on over Arthur's older yellow belt, which was then removed and handed to him.

"Congratulations, Morton," the Leftenent said, shaking his hand as the Sargent moved on to the next student.

------------------------


	9. Week Nine, 28 October – 3 November, 2001

A/N: 48 pages! Wow, another meaty one. For those that missed the fictionpress account information, it's fictionpress DOT com / (tilde) karanne (remove the spaces).

------------------------

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------   
9 – Week Nine, 28 October – 3 November, 2001, Fourth Year  
------------------------ _**  
Sunday, October 28, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table: 07:55 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Julie's laptop 'pinged' with the arrival of new mail, setting down her tea, she saved her DADA essay and opened the new message:

_To: Julie Morton (school)  
From: Maggie Morton  
Date: October 28, 2001  
Subject: Re: News_

_Dear Julie,  
We've received your last, we appreciate your letting us know. You might want to remind your brothers that THEY can email us too. _

_On to family news! _

_As you know Rebecca has been taking business classes off and on, she asked if there was a possibility of a internship at Arrowhead with Miss Wayne. Of course, some form of day care for Carson will need to be arranged, as well as housing, etc. _

_Hank and Misty are continuing on, Misty changing majors to Chemical __Engineering, and __Hank taking enough Mechanical Engineering courses to be a double major with his Mathematics__ He has __been tinkering with what he calls an 'antigrav hawg', this is apparently a motorcycle frame using antigravity instead of an engine. To be completely accurate, the engine powers a small generator, instead of the wheels. They have both been a great help in doing the designs for our move to Grimaldi. I understand there are other tenants there, is there the possibility we could meet them, possibly this summer in England? At the moment, even email addresses would be beneficial._

_Elena is ... well, drifting. She is taking her college core classes, but is not __particularly enthused about it. If she could afford it, __(read: if your father and I would pay for it) __she would bum around the world. Her only real __talent is languages. She does have some information that Miss Wayne sent her about the Solar Guard, which she doesn't think we know about. I never considered her for a military career, but it seems to interest her._

_Teela is back to her usual 'balloon and bust' cycle of losing and gaining weight. Currently she's about fifteen pounds up from when she wore her skinsuit, she's been working on losing that, and is therefore a bit touchy about it. She's taking Advanced Placement art classes in the afternoons, and has been experimenting (with Misty's help) in 'lunar art'. By this she means materials that would be available on the moon – sculpture in lunacrete, painting in glazes on glass, and so forth. _

_As far as your father and I, he's still driving his truck, I'm still at the Library, although the news leaked out (as it was bound to) about the Grimaldi claim. We've had some interest in buy-ins, including some feelers about mortgages._

_Now that you're up to date, we want to know about you three! I expect a reply shortly!  
Mom _

Julie snorted to herself, forwarding the message on to her brothers:

_To: Arthur Morton, William Morton  
From: Julia Morton  
Date: 28 October, 2001  
Subject: Fw: Re: News _

_Hey, you two, better answer back to Mom!  
Julie _

Standing, she walked down the table to where Mattie was eating breakfast with her study group. Leaning over, she asked, "Mattie, are you still hiring?"

She finished her bite, then said, "I don't do direct hiring, Karen does. Who are you asking for? Did Elena get the Guard stuff I sent her?"

"Yeah, even though she hasn't told Mom and Dad about it. Also, Becky has been looking for an business internship, I think she'd like to get out of Columbus."

Sprink put down her tea, asking, "Are either one interested in Greywolf? How good a flier is Elena, like Bill or Arthur?"

Arthur looked up, "Bill takes after Hank as an athlete, I'm more the brainy type," and Charlie snorted into his tea.

Mattie fished out a business card, passing it over along with Sprink's, "Send their CV's, I'll forward it to Karen, I'm out of her cards. If Becky's interested, she can put Carson in the daycare we use, it's down the street from the office, and I think one of my programmers is looking for a roomie." She added, "London's an expensive town to live in." Charlie raised his teacup, "I'll drink to that."

Sprink fished out a game disk, and stole a quill from Anne, inscribing the cardboard cover, 'Elena Morton, let us know how you do! Spokeswolf, Sprink Tonks'. Handing it over, she said, "Once it's installed, if she does 'Command – SA', then logs in, it will log her last ten scores, and send us the average. D'you think she could come down to Ecuador for training?"

"I don't know, I'll ask."

"Be cert she is aware," Anne said, looking up. "The smallest mistake can kill in space. 'Tis not a place for the lazy."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, October 28, 2001:  
Windfall, North Coast, Coast road**__**: 16:08: (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

73926 walked in coffle, the other ten slaves that had been rescued from the compound chained in line behind her. She was glad to have the 'Happy Slave' software finally removed, although she wasn't sure if there were lingering traces or not. '_How do I feel about Master_?' she thought, then tried to force an emotion about him. '_I'm jealous that I'm still slave; he's freed L'jissa and Z'hann_,' she decided. '_However, they were born free, I wasn't. I wouldn't know what to do if I was freed. I'd need a lot of help_.' She snorted to herself, '_Freedom's terrifying, in a way. As a slave, I'm told to go there and do that. If I were free, though, I would have to decide. There's a certain level of assurance that if I obey, I won't be punished, I don't have to think for myself. It's not just standing instead of kneeling, of saying 'Yes, captain' instead of 'Yes, master'_. She wiggled her tongue under the plate in her mask. '_It's not walking instead of riding, even the collar. Z'hann doesn't seem particularly upset about still wearing her collar. Indeed, she's said that she wants to increase her storage capacity. Even now, if I was free, with a standard enhancement, I would still be forced to say 'Yes, master', but as far as I can detect, that's about the only thing it forces on me_.' She reflected a bit, '_Yes, that's all I can really think of, and with the new chip, I don't even have to do that. I haven't had any really bad masters, I was shipped out, my previous master to Master Eddie was more ... indifferent. I was an object, one of many_.' She shuddered, '_I am SO grateful to Master Eddie for buying me, for rescuing me. Source knows what would have happened to me, what happened to the other three girls that were dropped off before we arrived at Master Eddie's ship. I really need to show him my gratitude, but how_?' She pondered, '_How would a free female do it? No, the question isn't that, it's what he would most appreciate..._' She inhaled, and sneezed out the road dust. '_Dare I? Dare I ... ask for my freedom_?'

------------------------

Chris walked along with the other slaves, chained sixth behind the cart in order of ascending height. Ahead of her walked the girl who had replaced her in the grave, she was the only slave clothed, although her common collar could be seen above the turtleneck she wore. Like Chris, her hands were cuffed behind her, secured there by the local cops, who had placed an evidence tag through the locking rings. '_Fairly easy walk so far_,' she thought to herself. '_I actually feel pretty good_.' Two ahead, the platinum haired slave shook back her hair, rolling her shoulders as much as she could. Ahead of them, on the cart they were chained to, were the four Happy Slave bastards who had killed her fellow slaves, and two of the WorkForce royal... well, royal was too good a word, but the term was the best she could come up with. The bastards who had kidnapped her and sold her into slavery, and who had slaves working unprotected in a small uranium mine. '_Forced by their programming to work until they dropped dead_, she decided. '_Torture's too good for them_,' she decided. '_What's worse_?' She mused for a minute, then decided, '_Ants_.'

------------------------

'_Source take it, I shall have to escape again_,' T'ara thought as she walked, chained behind the platinum blonde slave. '_I've killed one master already, I'm liable for death by slow torture, I have nothing left to lose_.'

------------------------

Fourth in line, 94383 could look over the twins' heads, and see the three wrapped forms who were lashed in place on the cart. They were slaves who had died of radiation poisoning, despite everything Z'hann had tried to save them. They had managed weak testimony to the Investigators, and had been brought along as evidence, along with computer disks and hardcopy documents. '_That could have been me_,' she thought. Swallowing, she felt her wrists held behind her, the leash collar on her throat, '_That could have been me, I'm a slave_...'

------------------------

Third in line, 45301 walked, '_He should have left us as Happy Slaves_,' she thought, looking up at the cart where their owner rode. '_I wouldn't want to kill him then for what he's done to B'tan and I_.'

------------------------

Second in line, 45303 walked, '_I wish A'nore would get over it_,' she mused. '_Yes, she's a few minutes older than I am, but really, he's actually a halfway decent master, we've had much worse_...'

------------------------

'_How many times have I walked this road_?' A'rel mused, her leash chain looping down to attach to the cart. '_Never would I expect to see what I'm a part of now_.' She watched as a shonnen cart slowly drove past, going the other way, '_One doesn't always see a line of offworld slaves walking behind a cart. I wish I could reply_,' she mused, tugging for a moment at her cuffed wrists. There was a minor jolt as the cart bounced into a small hole, one of the captives in the wicker baskets making a complaint. '_The female_,' A'rel decided. '_I wonder why she painted her toenails yellow_?'

------------------------

"Another few hours, I believe," Eddie said from where he sat on the deck, another blanket behind him for padding. He winced, "My apologies, but your furniture is not built for someone of my height."

"Neither is your starship to ours," the Chief Investigator said from where she sat. "I felt like a young girl when I tried the... what position was it?"

"The helm, it steers the ship," he replied, and winced again.

"Edward, allow me to treat your back," Z'hann said.

"The girls first," he said, motioning to the chain of slaves.

"I cannot allow you to do so," the Chief Investigator said. "There is the possibility you might taint their evidence." She shifted, leaning forward, "Your concern is to your credit, and I shall ensure they are treated upon our arrival at the House of Justice." Looking at Z'hann, she added, "You are fortunate, your mate was chosen wisely for you. He is almost female in his empathy. How did you meet?"

"Oh, _that_ I'm going to recall!" Z'hann said with a chuckle. "We met in a pub, where I was a slave there..." Eddie groaned as Z'hann related the tale.

------------------------  
_**Monday, October 29, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Morton home: 07:48 (GMT-5) **__**  
**_------------------------

Maggie Morton looked over at the computer when it 'dinged', announcing new email.

_CC: Mrs. Maggie Morton (Grimaldi Development, Inc.)  
CC: Ms. Shernette Young (Tallgrass Designs, Ltd.)  
CC: Ms. Amy Johnson (Greywolf Transport, Ltd.)  
CC: Mr. Alexei Sudeyev (Uzbek Basalt and Silicon, LLC.)  
CC: Mr. Johann Sturmfp (Universität Stuttgart)  
From: Ms. Martha Wayne (Arrowhead Development, Ltd.)  
Date: 29 October, 2001  
Subject: Meeting plans _

_I received a request from Mrs. Morton that a meeting between the different stakeholders in the Grimaldi development project take place. As construction looks likely to start soon (once the mass driver is in place), I'd like to propose around the Easter holidays in London. Please let me know how this would fit into your schedules._

_If you have not yet received a translator implant, please let me know. It is out patient surgery, they can be sent directly to your physician. _

------------------------  
_**Monday, October 29, 2001:  
Windfall, North Coast, House of Justice**__**: 07:34: (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

A'rel followed the Investigator down the corridor from the slave cell, entering the questioning room, and standing where she was told.

"Fair morning, girl," the Investigator said, sipping her tea. "Please stand before each of us, so we might verify your tags are intact. Has anyone other than an Investigator spoken with you since your capture?" A'rel whimpered twice, as each of the three inspected her tags.

One of the other Investigators said, "We will remove your mask, girl, you will not be penalized for it. You might speak freely of any concerns. If you understand, kneel, head down in front of me."

A small tool severed the threads holding A'rel's mask, and with a cough, she asked, "Water, mistress?" A glass with a small straw was placed before her, she drank thirstily. "Thank you, mistress," she said as she worked her jaw. She glanced at the Investigator, "It seems strange to speak again. Was that the truth drink?"

"It was," she said with a smile. Gesturing, she smiled, "Go kneel on the bench, you will need to lean back against the rest, as you will be unable to balance shortly. Did you have any questions?"

"Yes, mistress," A'rel said as she leaned back against the shonnen leather. "There are offworlders that you will need to question. Will the drink work with them?" She shook her head, adding, "I'm dizzy."

"That is why you lean back, girl, and the starship's healer has addressed that question already. Do not concern yourself." She leaned forward as the others took up writing implements, "Now, you are slave A'rel, your slave number is 02619. Your owner is the starship captain, you are his mate Z'hann's by proxy." A'rel nodded, she was reminded, "Speak your replies, girl. After you were collared, what did you do, and what did you see directly?"

"Yes, mistress. My ownership is correct, Mistress Z'hann holds me by proxy, although I don't think they realize that," A'rel said, head lolling back and forth as she spoke. "After I was collared, I was told to meet them in the park..."

------------------------

In another room, Z'hann told the three Investigators, "No more than two doses. She will be happy, almost joyful. When she complains of an excessive need to urinate, allow her to do so, and then return her to the cell to sleep it off. I shall monitor her initial stages, then I will leave her in your hands."

"Of course, Healer," the lead Investigator said, nodding to the guard, who brought in the girl, and relieved her of her improvised gag. Scanning her, Z'hann nodded, stepping back as the truth drink was offered and accepted.

"Who is she?" T'ara asked from where she rested against the bench.

"She is a healer, she is not your concern. You are slave 21209?" as Z'hann left.

"I'm T'ara! I'm not a slave! I killed my master, I'm free!" she said happily. "I'll kill the next fracking (obscenity) that tries to make me a slave!"

"Yet you are collared and marked as a slave," the Investigator said reasonably. "If you are not a slave, how did this happen?" she asked.

"The Source (obscenity) (obscenity) that was my cap'n gambled me an' lost! I signed on to his ship as crew, not fracking cargo! He drugged me an' I woke up in a (obscenity) (obscenity) collar! I'm not a bred slave, or a crim'nal, I shouldn't be wearin' one of these (obscenity) collars!" T'ara giggled, "I had a plan. I made a plate, 'y see, in th' ship's engine room, an' the next time he sent th' crew ashore, I strangled him w' my own wrist chains an' carved out his chip wi' his own belt knife. Then I dumped him an' stole the ship. Hasn't been easy, but I'm free!"

"Why didn't you simply go home?" one investigator asked.

"I would'a been forced to mate that (obscenity), an' I couldn't return wi' a fracking slave collar, now could I?" T'ara sighed happily, "No, I'm my own girl, I'm free, I'm nobody's slave." She looked a little downcast, "'Least I was. Well, when I'm sold again, I'll figure a way out, and if I have to kill another (obscenity) fracking (obscenity) of a master again, I will."

The Investigators traded looks, as one said, "Moving on, you were delivering cargo to the Happy Slave compound..."

------------------------

Z'hann raised her eyebrow as she scanned Chris in another room. "Interesting," she commented to the Investigators. "She has the same biochemical markers as my mate Edward and our slave 94383. She is perhaps from the same planet. In any case, you may use your original formulation, with the addition of five percent to allow for a larger body mass." Chris cocked her head, whimpering once. "Where is the slave 94383 to be interrogated?" Z'hann asked.

One of the Investigators checked a sheet, "Three doors left, Healer. We thank you." She addressed Chris as Z'hann left, "You are the slave 51720. Please stand in front of each of us so we might verify your evidence tags. Has any person other than an Investigator spoken with you?"

Chris whimpered twice as she dutifully stood, while an Investigator added a couple of drops to a glass of water, and knelt as the Investigator said, "We shall be removing your mask, girl. As you are not from this planet, you may not be aware that slaves are not allowed to do so. However, in this case we are doing so as part of a criminal investigation, you will not be penalized for this." She leaned forward to cut the threads sewn onto Chris' mask as the slave whimpered once. "As you have realized, the drink contains a truth drug. Once you have consumed it, kneel over there and lean back, it will make you dizzy and unable to stand. Speak freely, we are concerned with the truth of what you saw and heard."

Chris shook her head, working her jaw muscles. "Thank you, it's nice to be out of that. No hearsay evidence. May my hands be freed?"

"No, you are a slave, by law you must remain bound, but you may speak freely. What is 'hearsay evidence'?"

"What 'I heard someone say...'" Chris explained, adding "No 'Mistress, may I?'" Chris asked. She grinned, "A pleasant change. I could use water, even if it's drugged. Would someone be kind enough to hold it for me?"

------------------------

"I don't know what went wrong," Chris said, her head lolling back and forth. "I was a normal enhanced slave when I was knelt in the shop, the cables connected to my temple, my access point, and then all of a sudden, it was like I was free again, but the board still regulated me." With an effort, she held her head still for a moment, "I don't know if you know what an enhanced slave is, but we've got a control board, a computer installed in our brain, if you look, my eyes blink every five seconds, it controls my heart and breathing. I can't breathe hard, the board won't let me."

"Interesting," one Investigator said. "You're still a slave, though."

"But almost not an enhanced slave," Chris said. "I'm not forced to say 'Yes, Mistress' in every sentence. They tried to uninstall their software and reinstall it, but I was still a mistake, so they copied some files and lashed me to a frame." Once again, she forced her head to hold still, "I know I'm a slave, but attempted murder is still a crime, especially being buried alive. What's going to be done with me?"

"That is for the Learned One to decide, girl," one replied. "You were sold to the Happy Slave company for four hundred grams, you are company property. However, you state that you were stolen from your homeworld."

"I don't know if stolen is the right word," Chris said, head moving once again. "My boat was sinking in a storm, I could either go with the ship that appeared or drown. Is that voluntary? I don't know."

"Hmf," a Investigator said. "Difficult choice. Let us return to their laboratory, and what occurred in it..."

------------------------

73926 knelt when requested, feeling the heat-gun loosening the mask. As it came off her face, she coughed, leaning forward, hands still cuffed behind her. "Are you functional?" Z'hann asked, and she nodded. "Yes, mistress, thank you. It is more comfortable than other gags, but I am still pleased to be free of it."

"We shall have to replace it," one of the Investigators said as the slave drank, and the door closed behind Z'hann. She motioned, "Lean back against the leather, and you may speak freely."

"Yes, mistress," 73926 said, arranging herself comfortably. "What would you like to know?"

------------------------

"It was perhaps an hour after Master Eddie left with his slave," 73926 said. "I did not see his ship depart, but we saw another small ship appear over the trees, coming from the ocean."

"The WorkForce ship," one of the Investigators murmured.

"We did not know who they were, mistress, only that they were not known to us," the slave said. "They flew very low, barely clearing the trees. Mistress Z'hann became concerned, I was instructed to unbind the slave, while A'rel fetched the tools and we concealed ourselves in the forest." She nodded down at the bells hanging from her nipples, "These are attractive, and please Master, but they make it difficult to move stealthily."

One of the Investigators chuckled, while another snorted, saying, "That is part of their purpose, of course."

"Of course, mistress," 73926 agreed. "I confess to finding them pleasant, I would request them in any case, and I find I have infrequent need to move stealthily." She squirmed a bit to get more comfortable against the shonnen leather as the Investigators chuckled, "As one of WorkForce's products, I confess to taking great pleasure in seeing them captured. What will happen to them, and their slaves?"

"That is for the Learned One to decide," an Investigator replied. "Once you had concealed yourselves, what happened?"

"We waited," the slave replied. "We eventually saw one of the Happy Slave masters, the one that I watched Master Eddie have a long conversation with, emerge from the building with one of the WorkForce masters, and follow the path away from the burial site, into the trees. The WorkForce master was controlling an antigrav cargo sled with several large boxes stacked on it. When they returned, they had the same sled with only two boxes on it." She forced her head to stop moving, asking, "What were they, mistress?"

"They were taking empty, shielded boxes to a concealed mine, and returning them filled with radioactive materials," one Investigator replied. "This is how they were paying for their equipment, like the off-world generators we found. As you may know, we normally provide electricity with a ceramic generator powered by a windmill. Their windmill only powered a water pump."

"They had naked slaves working in the mine, without any protective equipment," one of the Investigators said, disgusted. "Eight of those graves were slaves that had died from radiation poisoning. They were programmed to work until they could work no more, then treated like ... waste."

"I understand, mistress, and thank you," 73926 said quietly. All four were quiet for a minute, then the slave shook herself, "What else would you like to know, mistress?"

------------------------  
_**Monday, October 29, 2001:  
Luna, Fauth**__** crater (south of Copernicus): 12:35 (GMT)   
**_------------------------

Petra looked across the surprisingly sharp-sided figure 8 crater, and watched another supply pod touch down. Grinning to herself, she watched the remote controlled bots approach it, then turned to her partner. "Ivan," she asked, "When will the bulldozer be here?"

"Shortly, fraulein Ströbele, shortly," the Russian replied. "We must get the crane operating, it is too delicate to be done by remote. After that, we may get the reactor in place."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, October 30, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Morton home: 05:39 (GMT-5)**__**  
**_------------------------

"You're up early," Maggie said as she came in, flicking the kitchen lights on. "Did I leave the coffeepot on?"

"No, I made it," Elena said. She looked up, "It's my second pot. I've been thinking."

"About what?" her mother asked as she finished the pot and started another. "The Guard? I never took you for a military career, I thought Hank would go into the service."

"More Coast Guard than Navy, Mom." She took a contemplative sip, "I'm going, Mom. I'm not really doing anything useful, this though, I could be a part of something great."

"Obviously, I'm concerned," her mother said. "I know you were thinking of it, but isn't this rather sudden? You're just giving up on college, too? How long would you be gone?" her mother asked, sitting down and clutching her hand.

"It's somewhat sudden, but I'm just drifting, mom," Elena said. "I'm going to college because I'm expected to go, not because I want to. I first started thinking about it a few months ago, and then I got the information from Mattie."

"Mattie," Maggie said. "She's already had one person die under her command, now she wants Arthur to go off planet."

"Mom, that was an intelligence agent, a spy. I wouldn't be doing that, and we don't know what the circumstances were," Elena replied. "Besides she does have that Ring, so it would be almost like having Superman as a bodyguard for Arthur." She moved her coffee cup aside, "Mom, I looked into college, I can take extension courses through Cambridge in London, it will give me something to do." She grinned, "Once I'm through Basic, of course. One thing that's come out is that spaceflight is boring, I'll need something to do off duty, and my credits from Ohio State will transfer."

Maggie grunted, and Elena continued, "I'm gone for six months, but I get a Christmas leave. I could see Arthur off from Eunomia," she added with a grin. "There's also the whole 'hero' thing. It's past time we stood up and defended our home and friends, mom. We shouldn't have to depend on Superman to do it for us." She put her coffee aside and stood, "Mom, my flight to Corfu leaves at one this afternoon," and hugged her mother.

Maggie sniffled, "Write when you get there, will you?"

"Of course, mom." Elena said from the hug, "I've got an eleven hour layover in Athens, I'll find a cybercafe."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, October 30, 2001:  
Windfall, North Coast, House of Justice**__**: 19:44: (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

The Chief Investigator knocked on the door's glass, poking her head around the slightly-opened door. "Learned One? I have the last of the files from our Happy Slave investigation."

He stood, stretching to get the kinks out of his back as he waved her in. She placed the files in his 'In' pile, as he groaned. He stood as she said formally, "Learned One, this concludes our Investigation of the Happy Slave matter."

"I have received the results of your Investigation, and I thank you for your diligence," he replied formally. He smiled, pulling off his formal robes and draping them over his chair back. He motioned to the sitting area, asking "Tea?"

"It would be appreciated," she replied as he poured. Pausing a moment, he said, "Three drops of S'nassa, if I remember correctly."

"You do," she said with a smile. She took a seat, as he said, "What do you think of this mess?"

"Profoundly glad that I am not sitting on it," she said with a smile, as he sipped.

"If things were just a bit different, you would be," he replied. "Come now, pretend for a minute, you've read the reports. What of the slaver, Nigma?"

"He's about as much a slaver as I am," she said with a snort as she held her teacup. He made a motion with his teacup, "He was ... 'forced', I think you might say, to assume the business. He seems to honestly care for his girls, unlike some of our own Elders."

"I know of whom you speak, let us not get into politics," and she nodded. They each sipped, thinking, then she added, "He is a good man, unlike some of our own, the ones we trusted with our future. Two of the slaves are from his homeworld, apparently his planet is in a similar position, they have the manufacturing capacity but not the knowledge. I think an arrangement can be made with him. In any event, we owe him a kindness or two, it might be instructive to see how he uses them, or handles a minor error with one of the slaves."

"Blessed sea, I wish you were on the Council of Elders..." he said.

"This might be the tool we need to reform our society," she said, leaning forward. "Let us be honest, why do we need our slaves to wear a different style of mask? If the intent is to prevent airborne disease, then why do we not all wear them? For that matter, why wear masks at all? When was the last recorded case of the Plague?"

"I agree with you," he said, raising his hand.

"We cannot take as long as it took to reform the 'Mother's Sin' laws," she said urgently. "We are at risk of outside takeover, the two aliens in the second ship were from WorkForce, their special operations directorate." She leaned forward, "They want our planet to breed more slaves, we cannot hold them off. We have _one_ antiquated frigate that is permanently moored to our one antique station. A single modern warship would destroy them without a second thought."

"Can we trust Nigma?" the Learned One asked.

She spread her hands, "I have only the interviews of his slaves to go by, as well as his actions. He has pride, he is an extremely intelligent male, but his actions do not speak to me of one that would betray a trust. Indeed, he put the welfare of his slaves above his own on our journey. In fact, he has freed slaves when he had no need to, it has cost him money."

"How so?" he asked, waving the tea pot in her direction.

"His mate, Z'hann is a good example. He could have kept her enslaved and had the benefits of her talents as a healer, instead he freed her, she has not been shy in spending his money." Raising her hand, "Admittedly, she has not been excessive, primarily in more suitable clothing. Still, she volunteered to help our investigation by adjusting our truth drink for the different species." She finished her cup of tea, "While they may wear the mask of a slaver, they are, at the shoreline, a good couple. Their slaves inquire after their health, which speaks well for them to me."

"Hmm," he said as she stood to leave. "You have given me a great deal to think on. I thank you, P'ala."

"My pleasure, Learned One. Shall I assume the trials are two days hence?"

"I think that best. E'lyn shall contact you. Fair evening, P'ala."

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, October 31, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Development, auditorium**__**: 09:35 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"Good morning, everyone," Mattie said to the assembled newsies. "Thank you all for coming. I have a brief announcement, followed by a short ceremony, and then we have time for a few questions." She waited while various flashes went off, then continued, "I would like to announce the presence of the first permanent occupants of the Moon. As you may be aware, our current population residing off Earth is now in the neighborhood of a hundred fifty, mostly construction workers in our various orbital installations. However, I would like to mention that we now have construction crews living on the moon, which leads me to my next announcement."

She waited while photos were taken, continuing, "I am pleased to sign, on behalf of Arrowhead Investments and the Solar Guard, this quitclaim deed to Mare Serenitatis. We have always said we will answer to the law, in this case I need to get from Superman the fee of one Euro." She leaned over to sign the document, passing it down the table to Lady Sarah, who signed as a witness, and then over to Superman. As he was signing, Superman said, "We need another witness, how about a member of the press?" He looked around, "Miss Lane, would you do the honors?"

"I'd be honored, Superman," she said, picking up the pen and signing, then asking, "What's the JLA's opinion of the Solar Guard?"

"The JLA has no objection to either Arrowhead or the Solar Guard. Indeed, once the Guard gets up and running, it will reduce our workload. However, we will offer our objections to anything that we find... well, objectionable," Superman said with a grin. He reached into his cape, holding up a framed one Euro coin with the JLA's signatures on the white mat, then passing it down the table. "There you go, Miss Wayne, one Euro."

"And a receipt," Mattie said, passing another framed document down the table. "We have time for a few questions."

There was an immediate babble, with one finally shouting, "Miss Wayne, can you tell us more about the current colonization?

"Certainly," she replied, "We have enough of an infrastructure in place now to start building. There is the start of a station orbiting the L1 Lagrange point, we have signed a contract with a major European hotel chain, who will be building the first variable-gravity hotel. I'm sorry, I can't identify them yet, but it's a well-known name, I've stayed in their hotels myself."

"Is it Hilton?" someone shouted, she leaned over and said, "No, not Hilton."

"What does the station look like?" someone else called.

"It will eventually be a torus, a ring, with the central docking at zero gee, and three tubes running to the ring, 120 degrees apart. Right now we've got enough of the central docking built that it can serve as a supply dump and hospital for the lunar construction crews." She waited a minute, "Just like on Earth, construction can be dangerous, we've been happy to work with the various unions, each site has what we call an ambulance, it's a completely automated pod that's programmed to launch directly to the L1 station, all the crews need to do is load the injured in and hit the big red button. We can't make it any easier than that. I'd also like to mention something else, that we are hiring the ... um, 'differently abled', I believe the term is, like paraplegics for orbital work. In zero gee, you don't need legs, as long as you can operate a console, we'll take you."

"What do you have that's being built, and planned?" someone called.

"Right now, we have two platforms in LEO, low earth orbit," she replied. "The first is LEO base, that's where people are, cargo is transhipped from there through my good friends at Greywolf Transport. The second is what we call the 'NIMBY' platform, that's unmanned, several hundred kilometers away. Both platforms are orbiting at an altitude of 250 kilometers, which both Soyuz and NASA's shuttle can reach. Going further out, we have an orbital assembly yard..."

"What's the NIMBY platform, why is it unmanned?" someone interrupted.

"It's unmanned because that's where we're taking things like nuclear and chemical waste for recycling on the moon," she said, "Going further out, our orbital assembly yards in geosynchronous orbit..."

"What's this about nuclear waste?"

"Primarily high level waste, used fuel rods, that kind of thing, we're taking them to the moon, a dead world, for recycling instead of burying them or dumping them at sea."

"Miss Wayne," a rail-thin woman stood, "Amber Durum, _Mother Earth News_. I am most distressed by the admission that you are risking everyone's lives by using..." her mouth twisted in distaste. "..._Nuclear_ materials, including nuclear waste."

"Ms. Durum," Mattie replied. "I am most certainly _not_ risking lives by using nuclear materials, as various governments can attest. Indeed, I am solving a very expensive and long-lasting problem by taking things like used fuel rods off their hands." She stepped down from behind the podium, "In addition, by recycling those materials for peaceful electric generation, I remove them from the possibility of terrorist activity. All of this is under the supervision of the governments involved, as well as on-site UN inspectors. I fail to see how you can object to that."

"Why can't you use solar power?" she shot back.

"Where I can, I do," Mattie fired back. "However, beyond Martian orbit, solar power is just not enough to do the job. In addition to the moon being in darkness for two weeks out of the month, a nuclear reactor provides baseline power. In addition, I note that some of the 'green' organizations have been protesting both Canadian fusion research and the Cuban government receiving beamed power from solar power satellites." Shaking her head, she said, "I never thought I'd see people objecting to _sunlight_..."

"We're protesting your risking everyone's lives in order to make a profit!"

"Profit? Not yet," she said. "Fusion promises far more power than oil or coal power plants, without the greenhouse gases and reduction of the ozone layer. In addition, you don't need expensive cooling towers or radiation shielding like you do with a fission plant, and the fuels are hydrogen and helium."

She waited for the press again, "As far as power satellites, you're at more risk from radiation or cancer by mowing the lawn without sunscreen or a hat. The power density at the center of the beam is like a hot summer's day. However, just to be sure, we have a greenhouse and goats under the antenna, to keep an eye on that kind of thing, and _again_, Ms. Durum, there are UN inspectors on site."

Lois Lane, who had returned to the reporter's pool after signing the quitclaim, asked, "Ms. Wayne, what prevents the beam from being redirected, or being refocused into a weapon, and I have a follow up question."

"Ms. Lane, the beam provides baseline power, not peak power, so people are going to notice when their lights go out," Mattie said to chuckles. "Now, I do not discuss security procedures, nor do I know all the different ins and outs, that's not my job. I know enough, and I have been cleared to tell you some things, though." She shifted, "Our transmitter assembly uses proprietary designs which are _not_ on our web site. Quite honestly, I wouldn't know one type of antenna from another. However, if an appropriate engineer that you choose is willing to sign a non-disclosure agreement, and follow our safety guidelines, I'll take him up. If he wants the beam shut down, he'll need to make the appropriate arrangements with the Cuban government."

Moving to one side, she changed the microphone to a different hand, "Now, bearing in mind that I'm not an electrical engineer, let's just say that a terrorist decided to take out a target like the White House by using a microwave beam. Furthermore, they managed to steal and construct the plans to the components, as well as steal one or more of the antigrav freighters to get their personnel and equipment up to GEO. At this point, they dock with the power satellite, which is in orbit over Central America. Now, remember, this is a 'proof of concept' satellite, a test bed, it's not as efficient as it can be. The solar panels are only at twenty percent efficient, which means that for every hundred watts of power received from the sun, the theoretical maximum output of the panel is twenty watts, but the actual output is closer to fifteen watts."

Wayne paused to take a sip of water, clearing her throat. "Now, our terrorists are geniuses, they have figured out how to _double_ the power throughput from a solar array, and have also figured out how to minimize losses from resistance and heat loss. Therefore, out of our hundred watts, they're getting thirty-five watts. They're bloody geniuses, I'd like to license their designs." People chuckled, as she continued, "Now, our genius terrorists have managed to dock with the power satellite without tripping alarms or people noticing anything," and she shook her head. "Must have happened during lunch, or when _Coronation Street_ was on. I'll have to remove telly from the lunchrooms. Our intrepid terrorists shut down power, so their engineer doesn't get electrocuted, and he makes a successful switch. Hooray!" Mattie thrust her arms in the air and did a small victory dance. Returning to the subject, "Now, all of you have science or engineering editors or consultants that you can, and will, call to verify what I've said. Continuing, our engineer has made the successful switch, there is still no reaction, so you carefully focus the beam as tightly as it will go. That's shrinking down from an eleven kilometer diameter to a kilometer. You aim it at the White House and throw the switch, victory is assured!"

She did another victory dance, then said, "Remember, the Central American array is a test unit, it's not as efficient as the one we're planning for the eastern Mediterranean. We did design it to be expanded and upgraded, for now, the received power in Cuba at the center of the beam is one hundred watts per square meter, because of the distance the beam is traveling, 36,000 kilometers. Now, our genius terrorists have managed to increase the power density on target, despite the target being farther away. So, what happens? What's the White House made of?"

"The White House is built of stone," Superman said. "The power density would be a bit higher, the Secret Service guards on the outside would get a sunburn." He addressed the press, "I've looked over the array, and the JLA has been briefed on the design. The scenario Miss Wayne describes is rather unlikely, as alarms would bring us running, also."

"So," Mattie summarized, "Ms. Lane, our terrorists have successfully stolen plans, engineered replacement components, hijacked a spacecraft, docked with the power satellite, shut off power and switched out those components, and re-aimed the power beam to kill the enemy in the White House, all without anyone noticing. Their net result has been... a sunburn or two." She did another victory dance, "A significant return on investment, we have struck a mighty blow, this day will go down in infamy!" She smiled, "What was your follow-up question?"

Amber interrupted, "What about the people at risk..."

"Ms. Durum, your colleague Ms. Lane has the floor," Mattie replied. "Please excuse the interruption, Ms. Lane. What was your question?"

"It is well known that you and President Luthor don't see eye to eye," Lois said. "What's to prevent you from doing something like this, or a personal attack on the White House?"

Mattie's eyes narrowed, "Ms. Lane, I do not see eye to eye with Mr. Luthor, and I'm quite certain the feelings are mutual. Nevertheless, he is well protected by the Secret Service, I would need to know his daily schedule several weeks in advance, and that assumes that it does not change. I know my schedule changes often enough. I think I've just illustrated the difficulties of firing any sort of beam weapon at an Earth target, if I tried it, there are sufficient safeguards in place to prevent it."

Superman nodded, "There are, Ms. Wayne."

Amber Durum took advantage of the general murmuring of the other reporters to ask an _important_ question. She was right, she _knew_ Wayne was concealing something, some sort of evil corporate plot. "What about the people at risk from launching all that nuclear waste?" '_Got you_!' she thought triumphantly.

Mattie shook her head, closing her eyes briefly in pain and muttering something. "Ms. Durum, let me review a few basic facts, since it's obvious you've ... forgotten them." She took a deep breath, "First, we are on the bottom of a gravity well. In order to move anything off the planet to space, we have to climb that well. It doesn't matter if we're lifting bread or uranium, we have to climb out of that well. Can we agree on the fact that we have to climb that well?"

Amber sniffed, "And when your rocket explodes, killing millions of people?"

Mattie sighed, "First, various governments are launching from remote locations like French Guiana, I only take receipt when it reaches the platform. Secondly, hazardous waste is not simply nailed into a crate, it's welded into a very strong steel container. For that reason, the odds of that rocket doing what you suggest are very minimal. They're..."

"Minimal doesn't mean no chance!"

"The odds are higher that you would be struck by lightning by standing on a golf course holding a six-iron. You cannot have absolutes, you have to have acceptable risk, Ms. Durum. That's the principal behind insurance. Now, you have objected to governments launching out of secure facilities, there are two other methods of getting that cargo up the well to orbit." Amber sniffed as Mattie held up two fingers, "The next option is using NASA's shuttle. Now, as various organizations have protested NASA using the shuttle to launch nuclear powered satellites and probes, using the same reason, I think we can also discount that." She folded down a finger, "The last option would be to ship the cargo to Ecuador so it can be lifted off at our starport. That would involve either air freight or cargo ship through the Panama Canal. For some reason, I can see people objecting to that." She folded down her last finger, "Ms. Durum, you and your colleagues want nuclear materials off planet, but you also object to the methods of our doing this. I don't follow your logic. Tell me, how do we accomplish this?" She tented her fingers, and waited for a reply.

There was no answer, just the noise of camera shutters as the assembled newsies turned to look at Amber. She sniffed, then finally said, "There must be another way! What about... Superman?"

"Superman, do you want to spend the next few years doing nothing but hauling nuclear waste to the moon?" Mattie asked politely.

"Not particularly, Miss Wayne, my wife would object," he smiled. There was a laugh from the newsies as the cameras turned back to Mattie.

"Smart man, I hope my boyfriend is making notes," she answered with a grin. She looked back at the newsies as they chuckled again, "Now, we've eliminated rockets, we've eliminated flying it up with antigravity. We're still having troubles with tractor beams, which is focused gravitational energy. There are two other theoretical possibilities that we haven't discussed. I emphasize the word 'theoretical' here. The first is a mass driver. This accelerates a load to escape velocity, sort of like a high-tech slingshot. Now, remembering that we still need to climb that well, we have to overcome the Earth's escape velocity of 11.2 kilometers a second. To put it another way, we have to accelerate to over Mach 23. The fastest jet aircraft I know of gets to a little over Mach 3."

She waited for a minute, then continued, "There are two ways to build that mass driver, using electromagnets or gravity drives to propel the load. An electromagnet driver on Earth would need to be several hundred kilometers long, a single straight track, perfectly aligned to fire to the east with a deviance of no more than a third of a millimeter, crossing through mountains, and being bridged across rivers and lakes. It would take years to build and cost... well, a lot."

"Billions of pounds," Lady Sarah said. "What about the gravity option?"

"That's a little more do-able, and that's what we're using on the moon," Wayne replied. "Once again, you have to have a perfectly straight track, preferably with a vacuum, only this would be designed to fire at a high angle. However, it would only be four miles high, the tallest structure on earth. Even with gravity generators to lessen the load, you run into materials problems. Since the moon doesn't have to worry about atmosphere and the gravity is less, that's only half a mile high. Please remember, this is all to fire a fifty kilo payload to low orbit."

"Fifty kilos?" someone asked. "That's all?"

"That's about what I weigh," Mattie replied. "However, the acceleration would kill a passenger. Assuming you build it in the UK, firing east, you also have the minor problem of air friction destroying the payload, just about when it's over the Middle East. I don't think the people there are going to like having chunks of plutonium falling on them. So we've just spent billions of pounds on something we can't use. The taxpayers will love us."

"That's four, I think," someone said. "What's the fifth option?" someone asked.

"Orbital elevator," she replied. "A long tether is built down from orbit, preferably to an equatorial region. This is closer to bring possible, the problem here is the materials technology. The tether has to support not only the 36,000 kilometer weight of the Earth tether, but also the 100,000 kilometer counterweight tether _and_ the counterweight at the end." She grinned, "Before you ask, steel isn't strong enough, and it weighs too much. There's a lot of research into carbon nanotubes, but they're currently being made in the labs, a gram costing about $25,000."

Looking directly at the furious woman, Mattie summarized, "Ms. Durum, I've gone over the ways I know of to remove the waste from Earth to orbit. You object to the ones currently in use, we have technical problems on others, and Superman doesn't wish to be used as a pack mule. Even if we never create another ounce of waste, how do we get what we do have off the planet?"

Cameras once again turned to a furious reporter, who glared at Mattie in silence before snatching up her bag and stalking out.

Cameras returned to Mattie, who said calmly, "As I was saying, we are reaching out to those persons that have lost the use of their legs. In microgravity, someone can just float over their work, whether it's a console or an arc welder. Now, let me mention the safety problems and how we're addressing them. First, we've instituted policies of 'space with a buddy', so we're looking for people that are already paired up. They can be married, related as brothers or sisters, or domestic partners..."

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, October 31, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, Subspace group**__**: 12:12: (GMT)  
**_------------------------

There was a knock on the door as the group was meeting, and Miss Wayne stuck her head in. "Oh, good, you got the pizzas," she said.

Bill swallowed and waved her in, "We must thank you, Miss Wayne, it is greatly appreciated. Please, join us and have a bite."

"Maybe just a small slice," she said, fishing out a slice of veggie pizza and pouring a cup of Diet Coke. She munched a bit, then asked, "I had a thought earlier, I don't know how do-able it is..."

"We won't know until you ask," Heather said, waving at a seat. "Pass the Diet down, would you?"

"Certainly," Mattie said, passing a bottle. "As I understand it, the subspace field serves as both a comm field and a sensor net," she began.

"Somewhat," Liz Sterling said. "The comm links are dedicated between each individual buoy and its neighbors in a mesh arrangement, like a chain fence. It's not a spherical field, but the sensor grid is a spherical field. Why do you ask?"

Miss Wayne swallowed her bite and nodded, "I was thinking asteroids. With our building program, we're going to need a lot of steel and other materials. I was wondering how difficult it would be to do some sort of compositional analysis on passing asteroids."

"We'd have to do a lot of redesign and rework at this point," Heather said. "It would probably be easier to land a probe of some sort on the asteroid, have it do the analysis and use a radio beacon to track it from node to node."

"Who would be mining these?" Bill asked.

"Private individuals, families," Mattie replied. "I think companies like Arrowhead would make more money on the infrastructure, the big refineries and smelters. The Japanese business model, lots of small suppliers." She took a drink of Diet Coke, "Besides, there's nothing stopping small entrepreneurs from opening a shop. I think they'd make more money selling the prospecting kit at a decent price."

"If each asteroid had a unique number, the claim and the orbit could be registered with the Guard, preventing piracy," Heather added. "How many asteroids are there?"

"Millions," Mattie replied. "A few meters in size up to hundreds of kilometers, plus comets, moons like Phobos..." She looked down the table, "Think I should set up another working group?"

Bill looked around, "I'd do it with Greywolf for the transport and the Guard for security, and swear them to secrecy. If the settlers can link through the subspace buoys for news and market information..." He looked down the table, "Mates, we need higher comm bandwidth," and everyone groaned.

"Sorry," Mattie said. "Think of all the money you'll be making."

"As long as you're supplying the pizza," Bill replied. "Beer would be good, too."

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, October 31, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Potions classroom**__**: 13:00 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Professor Snape looked up from the roll, "Miss Wayne, Miss Tonks, please see me after class." He twisted the scroll closed, "We continue with antidotes, specifically the combinations with Mandrake. Not all Mandrake is crushed, some of it needs to be slivered..."

------------------------

Sprink cleared her throat, "Professor, you wished to see us?"

"Yes," the tall, pale professor said as he cast a privacy spell. "I would have preferred you consult with me regarding this. However, I understand you will be traveling to another star system this summer. Therefore, instead of your summer potion, you will research native cures on that planet, provide samples, and complete a report for me. Samples of any relevant plants would be appreciated."

"Of course, sir," Sprink said.

"Do you have any particular choices regarding the star system?" he inquired.

"We are evaluating agent reports, sir," Mattie said, adding delicately, "You do not have need to know, sir."

He waved an annoyed hand, "I am aware of that, I was simply curious. What are your criteria?"

"Commercial and military possibilities, primarily, sir."

He pursed his lips, then dismissed the spell. "I would like to journey myself, but I can await better data. You had best run to dinner, you don't have much time before the ball starts."

"Do you have a date, sir?" Sprink blurted out.

"I do, an old school chum of mine." He made shooing motions, "Go, if you are typical females you will require most of the next few hours to 'get ready'."

------------------------

Charlie looked around, the Great Hall was ... strange this evening. '_The older girls, they're missing_,' he thought, as Sprink's arms draped around his shoulders. He looked up, "I was just thinking of you."

"That's so nice," she said, leaning over him to steal a roll. "Can't stay to talk, love, we've got to scoot. We don't have much time left to get ready."

"It's six thirty," Arthur objected.

"Exactly," Mattie said, stealing a chicken leg and a napkin. "We've only got two and a half hours to make ourselves over." She deposited the chicken leg with the rest of his gnawed bones, wiping her mouth and fingers as Sprink added, "Barely enough time."

"The elves do make the best chicken," Mattie agreed, giving her mouth and fingers one final wipe, then leaning down to peck Arthur's cheek. "See you in the Entrance Hall at nine."

------------------------

Professor Vector walked carefully up the girls' staircase, a rack of bubbling potion vials floating behind her. She could hear Severus lecturing the boys as she opened the door to the madhouse that was the fourth-year dorm.

The Slytherin girls were running in and out of the loo, fixing their hair and faces, and Miss Wayne was lacing Miss Bundy into a rather strict corset as she clutched a four-poster.

"You can use a wand for that, Miss Wayne," she said, as Anne gasped for breath. "Miss Tonks, who's in the loo?"

"No one that's going, ma'am," she replied, putting down a makeup brush.

"Good," she said, holding out vials. "A bit of insurance."

"Contraceptive potion?" Anne gasped, her back held ramrod straight. "My charms doth be intact."

"You may drink it or not as you choose Miss Bundy. This is not a declaration that Hogwarts expects you to have sex tonight." Anne's face (and a few others) burned crimson as the Professor continued, "It is merely intended to prevent any... misfortune." After she passed out potion, she added, "You lot finish up Slytherin, my next stop is Ravenclaw."

------------------------

"Evening, gentlemen," Professor Harry said to the fourth-year boys. "Professor Vector is working through the ladies, giving them this talk." He moved to help Charlie with his bow tie, "I presume I don't need to explain the birds and bees to you blokes."

"No, sir," Arthur said. "What can we do for you?"

"Just this," Harry Potter said, passing around a box. "Take two or three, they're wizarding ... protection. Use '_subsisto_' to ensure they stay in place. I hope that you don't have any of Fred or George's adult products, some will turn you interesting colours, aside from other ... effects." He leaned against a bedpost, "While we don't expect you to start shagging, best to be prepared, eh?"

------------------------

As Mattie lined up with the other Slytherin attendees in the Common Room, the faculty did a last inspection. While she was the only one wearing a uniform, she and Anne were not the only ones wearing the swords of nobility. As Professor Sinestra did a last tweak to a sixth-year, then stepped back, Professor Snape said, "One last instruction. I expect you to behave with dignity and honor, maintaining the good names of your families and Slytherin House. Now..." he smiled slightly, "Have a good evening."

"Isn't that mutually exclusive?" one of the Dorney twins muttered.

------------------------

As the Slythies broke up to seek their dates from other houses, Mattie saw Professor Snape bow to a tall, elegant woman with straight black hair. She hooked her hand into his elbow as Sprink said, "Oh, wow. P'fessor Snape with Auntie Bella?"

"Thou must excuse me," Anne said. "I doth espy my date," and with a nod, she left for a fellow coming down the staircase.

"Good evening, _Damiyo_ Wayne," an older woman said, on the arm of an immaculately uniformed man. Mattie bowed, "Your Majesty, I am honored to see you again." Turning slightly, she addressed the naval officer, "Your Grace, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. May I have the honor of introducing my date for the evening, Mr. Arthur Morton?"

The duke turned, as the Queen offered her hand, "Mr. Morton, I am so pleased to meet you at last. I have heard a great deal about you." Arthur blinked a few times, before nervously accepting her hand, then greeting the duke.

Prince Harry coughed into his gloved hand, "Grandmother, may I introduce my date, Lady Anne Bundy, Viscount Essex." Anne curtsied.

"Now that we have the formalities out of the way," Her Majesty said, extracting a wand from her infamous purse and waving it to create a privacy spell. "You may call me Elizabeth if you wish (Anne stiffened in shock). Miss Wayne, I wished to discuss your press conference this morning with you." Stowing the wand, she continued, "You are aware that by replying to that twit newsie, you've created an enemy, not only with her and her magazine, but with other Green organizations."

"Which twit newsie was it, Gran?" Harry asked.

"Durum, from _Mother Earth News_," the Duke replied, running a finger around the high starched collar of his uniform. "I watched it on my office telly. Humiliating her like that is certain to increase their base of support." He grimaced slightly, "While I must admit I envied you the chance to give her a verbal flogging, making her look the fool, the Greens will ignore that, and focus exclusively on the nuclear waste issue, lambasting you for not having a suitably 'green' solution, while failing to provide a solution of their own." He shot his cuffs, "I detest formal affairs, my feet always hurt. In any case, they do not use logic as you and I do, their reasoning is based as much as emotion as reason. In other words, they support the beaver's dam, but not the human dam. They will demonize you as a callous capitalist, even if you were to wholeheartedly embrace their agenda, they would still criticize you."

Mattie sighed, "I am so glad I'm not wearing heels, but I can't curtsy in pants," she said, gesturing to her highly polished black boots and space-black formal outfit. Her yellow sash, tied over her right hip hid the belt her sword hung from on her left, the back of her upturned collar framed the yellow turtleneck, the light purple collar points giving a visual contrast. Sighing, she asked, "What do I do? I don't agree with them."

"It is proper for a military officer to bow, no matter their gender," the Duke said, as he accepted a fallen medal back from Arthur, "I didn't say you needed agree. However, I might offer a bit of advice on how to repair the damage. You can marginalize them, and cut them off by ..."

------------------------

"So when do we go in?" Arthur asked quietly as they waited while others entered the Great Hall. He nodded to Mr. Kent, who entered with his wife, Alastair the Hat announcing "Mr. Clark Kent, and Ms. Lois Lane."

"We go in last, in reverse social rank, so we can be properly 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over," Prince Harry said, as he adjusted his tuxedo's shirt collar. "I've got five on Manchester tonight, I'm missing the game." He rolled his shoulders, "That means you two, then Anne and I, and then Gran and Phillip. Get ready, you're after Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, as hosts."

"This is good practice for all of you," the Duke said. "Besides, the Gunners will take the match by two."

Anne rolled her eyes, "Is sport all males think on?" she asked rhetorically. "In my time t'was jousting. 'Sooth, we doth also lead off the dancing," Anne mentioned, as she adjusted her tightly boned dress. "'Tis good that you did take lessons, how is thy waltz?"

------------------------

Arthur felt a tap on his shoulder, looking up to see a grinning Clark Kent. "Might we switch partners?" he asked. Flicking a glance at Mattie, he stepped back, offering his hand to Lois, "Ms. Lane, would you care to dance?"

"I would be delighted, Mr. Morton," she replied, as Mattie spun off with her tuxedoed uncle. "That's a beautiful gown, but I thought the guest list was 'Students and Alumni'," he offered as they started.

"'And Friends'," Lois added as the Weird Sisters segued from a foxtrot into another waltz. "This old thing?" she said with a grin, indicating her teal dress. "I had to give Clark explicit instructions, but fortunately, he's got a good memory. I'm not bad for an old married woman. You certainly fill out a tuxedo nicely. I understand Mattie's offered to take you off planet this summer."

"Yes, I'm not sure I should. It doesn't sound very pleasant," he admitted.

"Not all aliens are 'Ming the Merciless'," she said with a grin. "You've met J'onn a few years ago, after all. Admittedly I'm not as widely traveled, but I think you should go. It would at the very least be extremely educational, and you know Mattie won't let anything dangerous happen to you."

"It's not a question of 'let'. She's already had one person die under her command," Arthur said quietly. "That makes my parents nervous, especially not knowing the details, but on the other hand, she does have that Ring, and they know about that. It's almost like having Superman along as a bodyguard."

"Yes, my favorite 'pack mule'," Lois said with a grin. Arthur looked at her quizzically, Lois shook her head, "From her press conference this morning. Some twit of a Green wanted Superman to spend the next few years doing nothing but hauling nuclear waste to the moon. That way we could all run through the meadows with the happy little bunny rabbits, eating grass and bark."

"I get the feeling you're not a big Green supporter..." Arthur said with a wry grin.

"I think they've got a certain disconnect from reality," Lois replied.

------------------------

"Nice uniform," Clark said. "Black, though has undertones of the SS..."

"They had too much glitz on theirs," Mattie replied. "We discussed that, that's why we settled on this. The turtleneck's division color is copied from the original Star Fleet, the rank is the color of the collar points. Nothing else, not even a name plate. I'm actually out of uniform with the outer robes and the sash." She was dipped, "Gold turtlenecks for command, grey for training, red for engineering and services, blue for science. The Israelis suggested black, it was acceptable coming from them, and the color up top draws the eye." She grinned at her uncle, "You could have come in your other one, red and blue certainly stand out," Mattie teased gently. "How did you get here, by cape?"

"Yes, we borrowed Minerva's office," he replied. "We should talk about that press conference," he said.

"Gran and Phillip already did," she said. "I understand you can't really say anything."

"Yes, but I really don't appreciate being called a 'pack mule', he said with a smile as the song came to an end.

------------------------

"So has he given it to her yet?" Sprink asked as she watched her best mate out of the corner of her eye. "I haven't heard anything."

"I haven't seen them, but I think he's waiting for a break to get her some punch," Charlie replied. "Know anyone that's spiked the punch, by the way?"

"I think the Dorney twins did," Sprink admitted quietly. "Don't know with what, though. They're both in NEWT potions."

------------------------

"Oh, I'm winded. Could you get me some punch, dear?" Lois asked, taking a seat at a table.

"It's spiked," Clark replied, scanning the drinks. "They're all spiked, I don't recognize most of the molecules. Want the one with vodka?"

"If you would," his wife replied. "I'll just nip off to powder my nose in the meantime."

------------------------

"Ms. Lane," Gran said as Lois joined the queue for the ladies' room. "That was an excellent question at the news conference this morning. Tell me, how is that dear Mr. White?"

"Thank you, ma'am," Lois replied. "He still wants me back, I can't tell him about the _Reporter_, although I wish I could."

"Would he keep our secret?" she asked, waving her hand at the school's moving staircases and portraits.

"I don't know, ma'am," Lois replied.

"Well, if you think he might, you have my consent to tell him. You might want to bring him over and show him around." The Queen looked around, then asked quietly, "I am reliably informed that Mr. Morton will be giving Miss Wayne a promise ring. Has he done so yet?"

"I don't believe so," Lois said with a grin, "I haven't heard her screaming or seen her throwing herself on him yet, though."

------------------------

"You, Miss Wayne, are an extraordinarily hard person to pin down," Arthur said, offering her a cup of punch as he draped an arm over her shoulder. He pulled her close for a quick kiss, then backed off, slightly embarrassed.

"I know, I know," Mattie sighed, reaching up to return the kiss. "I figure I've got four full time jobs, including student," she confessed as she was gently guided to a seat, Arthur reaching down to move her sword aside. "Well, three, Amy and Sprink are dealing with Greywolf." She took a sniff, "You know the punch is spiked?"

"Yes, Mr. Kent said this one had vodka, it's the one he picked. God alone knows what's in the other ones, especially with the Weasley twins here." His glance flicked over to a nearby table of redheads, he didn't notice that they seemed to be the focus of a lot of attention as he went to one knee, "Miss Wayne, there's a ..." and he blinked. "Damn it, I've forgotten what I was going to say. Mattie, this is a Dunka family heirloom from Hungary, the first pair is a promise ring, they magically, um, merge..." Fumbling, he opened a small wooden box, not noticing he was holding his breath and chewing his lip as he reached for her hand.

"Mr. Morton, I will be honored to wear your ring, until death do us part," she said softly, pulling him down into a kiss, and holding her left hand up behind his head, fingers spread and wiggling to display the ring as everyone applauded.

------------------------

"Wayne could do so much better than Morton," one girl said, carefully waving her wand to repair her makeup.

"Her family is going to eat him alive," another agreed. "'Until death' takes on a whole new meaning with her."

"She's going to spit him out, more dead than alive," a third said. "Pity, really. He helped me with some charms, nice enough bloke, although a bit stand-offish."

"Pardon me," Lois said, washing her hands. She carefully touched her lipstick up, "Personally, I think they make a wonderful couple."

"_Muggle_," one sneered, "Go back to your hovel."

"You would have fit in so well with Voldemort," a tall woman said, touching up her own makeup and ignoring the gasps of horror. "I spent time in Azkaban because of him."

"Ms. Lestrange, how are you?" Lois said calmly as the girls' eyes widened in horror.

"It's Ms. Black, Ms. Lane," Bellatrix said. "Please accept my apologies, you shouldn't have to hear that rubbish. I agree, they do make a wonderful couple." She drew her wand, and the three girls bolted.

Bella watched them dispassionately, then winked at Lois, whispering, "An evil reputation does have its uses."

------------------------

"I missed it?" Lois said, disappointed. "I missed it!"

"It was very sweet," Clark said, as Nearly Headless Nick danced by overhead with Moaning Myrtle. He moved his head to let them by, Albus and Minerva echoing them on the dance floor. "The night's young, though, Albus asked me for a favor..."

As the music ended, Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands twice, "Your attention please. While it is traditional for witches and wizards to handle important matters on Halloween, and I certainly do wish Mr. Morton and Miss Wayne the best on their future happiness..." He turned, "Minerva, we have known each other for many, many years, through good times and bad." He removed his hat, muttering, "Now where?" Parking his hat in midair, he extracted a rabbit, tossing it to Severus after removing a ring. Replacing his hat, he bowed low, "Minerva, would you do the kindness of becoming the wife of a poor barrister, for the few years I have left?"

She sniffled, conjuring a hanky, "Albus, I will be ecstatic for every day I have with you."

The band started up, only to be waved down by one of the Weasley twins, "Oy, you lot!" Fred (or George) said, standing on a table. "Best wishes to the two happy couples, an' you lot are all invited for the double wedding of Gred and Forge July first at the Burrow!"

Simultaneously, a dozen girls said, "Oh, what will I _wear_?"

Arthur wrapped his arms around Mattie's waist, quietly commenting, "We've just been upstaged."

"'S ok," she said, turning in his arms and pulling his face to hers.

------------------------

"So what are Mattie and Arthur doing?" Lois asked as she snuggled next to her husband as they floated in midair.

Clark shifted to look through the walls, "They're lying on top of one of the towers, snuggling and talking, and no, I'm not listening in."

"Liar," she said, with a poke at his ribs. "You don't lie well, farmboy."

"Ow," he obligingly said. "They're talking about ... oh, my." He looked at his wife, dressed in her favorite Metropolis Meteors nightshirt. "She's telling him why she's doing what she's doing. Oh, my, I'm going to have to confirm that." He watched for a minute, "He's horrified, and I don't blame him."

"They're not talking about going off-planet this summer?" she said, straddling his belly, her feet six inches off the floor. "He was concerned about it, and what are you going to confirm?"

"Alfred's numbers," he said distractedly, a far off look on his face.

She snapped the elastic of his boxers, he looked at her, only then remembering to say, "Ow." He blinked, then asked, "Want to go off planet for a vacation this year?"

"To that really tacky tourist trap of a star? Which one was it, and what's her motivation?"

"Beta Lyrae," he said. "Eclipsing contact binary. Fairly rare, only a dozen or so I know about." He gently pulled her close, "Want another trip?"

Lois' reporters' instincts were screaming, "What did she say?"

He shook his head, "Mattie asked me not to tell you, and Arthur asked me to buzz off." He blushed a bit, "He was rather less polite than that."

------------------------

"I can't believe I just told Superman to bugger off," Arthur said as he lay on the tower roof with Mattie. He leaned over her, "So many things make sense now."

"Yeah," she said, pulling him close. "It puts you in very select company, you know. Between you and Uncle Clark, it's seven people on this planet. Even my mom doesn't know."

He shook his head, "This makes me semi-related to Superman. Oh, man. What are you going to say to Ms. Lane?"

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, October 31, 2001:  
Killarney, Ireland, High Street, Solar Guard office**__**: 22:09: (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"So how is everyone doing?" Senora Delacorte asked.

"It is ... strange," Seven hesitantly volunteered. "I have not been beaten once. When I made an error, it was explained to me, differently, so I might learn. Outside of the hall of learning ..."

"School," she was gently corrected.

"S'kawl..." she tried again. "S..koo..el..." it was pronounced, and she continued, "Outside of the s..kool... some larger girls tried to mock me, my new brothers came forth and traded words with the girls, then walked me back to the shop. I do not understand, why do they think I am young, I am of salable age."

"Your sizing indicates a younger female than you are," her sister J'en said, getting a confirming nod from Delacorte. "This triggers a defensive mechanism in males, this is an aggressive species, but they are willing to protect and help us."

"We have been fighting since our species first stood upright," Senora Delacorte said quietly. "Now, if God is willing, we can fight someone besides ourselves."

------------------------  
_**Thursday, November 1, 2001:  
Windfall, North Coast, House of Justice**__**: 07:30: (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

"All rise for the Learned One!" the bailiff shouted through her mask.

Eddie stood with the others as the judge entered, dropping a large stack of files on the elevated table. He took a small rod from his robes and struck a small chime, "Please be seated. We call into question the matter of Windfall against Happy Slave and its principal agents. Let us resolve the question here." He turned to regard the bailiff, "Please summon the first witness, the slave 02619, known as A'rel."

------------------------

"Slave, the citizens of Windfall thank you for your service," the Learned One told A'rel. "Please accompany the guard, you will be re-masked and confined until your owner claims you."

As A'rel stood, following a guard that beckoned to her, the bailiff called, "Next witness, the slave 21209, known as T'ara."

------------------------

"Slave, you have testified under truth drink that you contracted with an off-planet agents to deliver assorted merchandise to the local firm known as 'Happy Slave' on this planet." She gazed up at him, silent, as he continued, "This was sealed cargo, you were also to purchase automated equipment, including computer equipment to deliver to Happy Slave. However, you defrauded Happy Slave by bidding and delivering substandard equipment to them. How do you answer to this?"

"Why should I answer when you're going to kill me. Why should I give you anything?" she replied from where she stood, bound and chained in the witness box.

"Not necessarily," the Learned One replied. "If you co-operate, and verify the testimony you gave under truth drink, you will not be killed, slave."

"That's another thing, I was illegally enslaved. I shouldn't even be wearing this fracking collar, _Master_," she spat.

The Learned One sighed, "I will allow your testimony one of two ways. The first way is as a slave, in which case your murder of your master and theft of his starship will be adjudged against you. As you know, these crimes carry the penalty of death by torture when perpetrated by a slave, no matter how justified. While Captain Nigma has asked to testify in your favor..." T'ara spun to look at Eddie, sitting in the second row, "... I don't think this is necessary, nor is the option I have to take that testimony from a slave under torture. I agree that you were enslaved illegally, however, you _were_ enslaved."

"That's one way..." she said. "What's the other?"

"The second option is that you will endorse your testimony as a free female. In this case, none of the crimes regarding the murder or starship theft you have admitted to will be examined, nor will you be questioned under torture. As those crimes happened outside Windfall's jurisdiction, and we have no extradition treaty, they never happened as far as the court is concerned."

"What penalty do the others carry?" she asked warily.

"In that case, you have four charges against you. They are:

Illegal import of controlled equipment and materials,  
Failure to pay and declare duty and customs charges,  
Defrauding your client, and   
Endangering the public health by not wearing a mask.

Do you understand these charges?" he asked.

"Not the public health charge," she admitted. "What are the penalties, and I want to negotiate."

The Learned One chuckled, "You are a trader, aren't you? Persons are required to wear a mask to prevent airborne disease. By not doing so, you have endangered the public health." He interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on them as he regarded her. "I am willing to credit you the..." he flipped open her file, "... seven years you have spent as a slave, and allow your sentences to run concurrently." She nodded, as he continued, "You would be sentenced to judicial enslavement, your owner would be the Slave Control Board, you would be leased to your master."

"I'd be a slave, though," she said disgustedly.

"For a few years," he agreed. "Not for life, and as a slave you do have certain rights, which your master would agree to honor under contract law when you are leased," the Learned One said. "It is one of the few clauses that carry a death penalty for males, we have executed males that have not honored it." He placed his hands on the table, "As a confessed female, I have given you the best option I have for your testimony, your decision?"

------------------------

"So you... interpreted the computer specifications in your favor?" the Learned One asked.

"Of course," T'ara answered. "I made an average of thirty percent more tungsten by doing so. I have no idea what was in the sealed containers, I had to make a bit of profit _somewhere_."

"Of course," the Learned One said to general chuckles. "The customs and duty?"

"He said he was the customs official, and he wanted tungsten to clear the shipment, that's the normal course of events on too many planets to count." She shrugged, "Why should I be suspicious, that's business?"

"I see..." the Learned One said. He rested his chin on his hands for a minute or two as he thought, then he asked, "Free female T'ara, have you anything to add to your testimony?"

"I do not," she said, bracing herself.

He stood, "Free female T'ara, on the charge of failure to pay customs duties and charges, it is dismissed. I do not hold fault against you the deception perpetrated by others, nor the graft of some of our galactic neighbors." She exhaled in relief.

He smiled slightly, continuing, "Free female T'ara, on the charge of illegal import of controlled materials, I do not find you at fault of importing the sealed containers, which were signed for as sealed by your Happy Slave consignees, and given to you for transshipment by your WorkForce clients. You bear no fault for this. However, you did import restricted equipment and materials, that required to alter the programming of enhanced slaves, although it was under contract by the above-mentioned WorkForce clients. For this fault I sentence you to ten years of judicial enslavement." Her shoulders slumped, he waited until she raised her head.

"Free female T'ara," he continued. "On the charge of defrauding your recipient for profit, and having examined the relevant bills of lading and invoices, I must find you at fault. If your profit margins were lacking, you should have adjusted your rates." He held up a hand, "I understand there were difficulties in conducting business when collared as a slave," and she snorted. He smiled slightly, "For this fault, I sentence you to thirty years of judicial enslavement, to be served concurrently. Are you ready for the last charge?"

She braced herself, hands still cuffed and head held high. "Proceed, please."

"Free female T'ara, on the last charge of endangering the public health, I find you at fault, and sentence you to twenty years of judicial enslavement. This sentence is to be served concurrently with the other charges. This gives you a combined sentence of thirty years for all three charges. I will subtract the seven years you have spent as an illegally enslaved female, giving a net sentence of twenty-three years. Do you understand this sentence?"

She swallowed, her head still high, and said, "I do."

He regarded her, adding, "Free female T'ara, you are something of a victim here as well as the citizens of Windfall are. As you may know, part of the lease contract for a slave requires her master to make educational materials available at his expense. I will make you an offer, that if you are willing to study and pass the certification examinations for the Spacer's Guild, I will reduce your sentence by two years for each. As an alternative, if you are willing, you might accept what I understand is called 'enhancement'?"

Eddie stood in protest, the Learned One raised his hand, warning him, "Captain Nigma, be seated, please. This is not your affair."

"It is _mind control_, your honor!" he protested.

"I had not finished, Captain Nigma. Please be seated, or I will have you removed." The Learned One addressed T'ara again, "As the good Captain states, enhancement does function as mind control for a slave. It is also, as I understand, an extremely efficient way to gain knowledge, as well as those certifications. Therefore, I will leave the decision to you. You may not be pressured one way or..." he glared at Eddie, "...another. It will be completely your decision, I will require that your master, as part of your educational and medical support, fund a Healer second to perform the surgery."

Z'hann stood, "May I address the court?"

The Learned One waved his hand, she continued, "I am Z'hann, currently licensed as a Healer second, and I cannot perform the surgery. A Healer first is required for the best results. I would also mention that I am enhanced, once the equipment is in place, it is very difficult if not impossible to remove, as it sends a second set of tendrils throughout the nervous system." She looked at Eddie, then faced the Learned One again, "I would agree that it is an efficient way to learn a skill, I would advise free female T'ara to consider her choice carefully, and to discuss this with some who are currently enhanced themselves." She massaged the back of her skull, "If improperly done, the implants can be irritating. Mine itch, however I cannot operate on myself. It can be ... distracting."

"I thank you, Healer Z'hann, and Captain Nigma, for your information," the Learned One said as Z'hann sat. Addressing T'ara, he said, "A Healer first, then. Should you decide to do so, I understand the Guild will accept a slave up to First Officer, the post of Captain are restricted to free persons. Therefore, the various certifications up to and inclusive of First Officer, with or without enhancement."

T'ara blinked, "I thank you, Learned One, but what good will that do me if I am chained, pulling a plow?"

"My hope is that you can serve in licensed trade for Windfall. In any case, slaves do not pull plows, we have shonnen for that." He interlaced his fingers again, "Have you any other questions, free female T'ara, before I impose sentence?"

She swallowed, "No, I thank you, Learned One."

He nodded, and said, still standing, "Free female T'ara, I sentence you as specified to judicial enslavement. Kneel, slave T'ara, and accompany the guard."

After T'ara had been led out, the Learned One looked at Eddie, "Captain Nigma, I _strongly_ urge you to bid on her. Is that understood?"

"Learned One, I don't need another slave," he protested.

"Captain Nigma, I will repeat, I _strongly_ urge you to bid on her." He smiled slightly, "The people of Windfall owe you a kindness or two for revealing this plot to us, and I would honor these kindnesses."

"In that case, I would ask the court to annul the conviction of one of my slaves, so I might free him. He has served me well, but I cannot free him until his conviction is removed," Eddie said.

"I see. Who is this slave you would free?"

"His name is Gix, he is my cargo master, and he is waiting outside in the park."

"The bailiff will bring him while we recess for fifteen minutes, what does he look like?"

"He is grey skinned, and somewhat larger than I am," Eddie said, with a small smile.

------------------------

"You are Gix?" the Learned One asked, looking up at the towering alien. The bailiff barely reached his waist. "Captain Nigma wishes to annul your conviction. Tell me, what was it for?"

"I was Supply Master for my ship, m'lord," Gix rumbled from the ceiling, the subsonics making the hanging lights dance near him. "I always thought my shipmates deserved th' best, m'lord, and if that meant a bit of creative chipwork, or gettin' five when th' manifest said we needed two, well, that was to th' good. Th' other ships could look for themselves." He shrugged, "Th' First didn't see it my way, an' neither did th' Crown Court, an' here I am."

"And how long have you worn a collar?"

"Twenty years, m'lord."

"If you are freed, what then?"

"I'd be pleased t' take service wi' Cap'n Eddie, m'lord."

"Very well. I, finding that the petitioner has served a sentence longer than I would have imposed, shall hereby annul the petitioner's sentence for Crown theft. Petitioner will accompany the Chief Investigator to have his collar lights changed to that of a common slave." He looked at Eddie, "Captain Nigma, you wished to say something?"

"Yes, Learned One. Please direct the Chief Investigator to set his collar and hip implants to 'Free'." He addressed Gix, "Once the conviction is annulled, I free you."

Gix nodded as the Learned One said, "P'ala, please see to it yourself." He rang the chime, then again as he said, "We are dismissed for two hours for midmeal."

------------------------

Eddie and Z'hann joined the others in line at a small eatery, turning when they heard, "Captain! Healer! Join me, please!" from behind them. Giving up their places, they joined the Learned One in line, who said, "I always prefer to eat in the park if the weather is nice." He addressed the slave, "Three of my usual, please, on my bill."

"We do have funds, Learned One," Z'hann objected as the slave scampered away.

"You are my guest, that would not be proper," he replied. "Also, in there, I am Learned One, here, I am another citizen, my name is Maalon. P'ala will be joining us shortly with Gix. Ah, here we are," as the slave presented him with a bill, which he initialed, taking a leaf-wrapped package and a grapefruit sized husked fruit. "Please make certain P'ala and her guest are on my bill. I will see you at the end of the week with the total, T'mala?" he asked the slave, who whimpered once, flicking a set of complex signs. "Of course, of course. Fair winds, girl."

As they walked through the park, Z'hann held the package at eye level, examining it. Maalon chuckled, "It is steamed Qbit fish, very tasty, and the leaf wrapping absorbs some of the nutrition. Be certain to consume it." He held up his fruit, "Masada seeds, they have a liquid center that is very refreshing, add a little water if it is too strong for you. Ah, the winds smile on us, my favorite table is empty." He took an end seat, adding, "Best we leave the bench for our large friend Gix. I assume you both have knives?"

Eddie looked a bit uncomfortable, "Err, yes. It is normally not permitted on my homeworld for citizens to bring weapons into a courtroom."

"I could see that if you brought a spear-thrower, but a knife?" Maalon shook his head, "Different planet, something we shall need to adjust to. I look forward to traveling the stars."

"May I ask a question?" Z'hann inquired.

"Certainly, if I might return the kindness. If either of us offend unintentionally, please take no fault." The two aliens nodded, as Z'hann asked, "The food-seller, T'mala? I noticed her name on the shop, I thought females could not own property."

"Ah, that is a bit of a tale," Maalon said. "She opened her first shop, that one, about, oh, twelve, no, fifteen years ago, with her father signing as owner. She has a touch, she does, with fish of all kinds. Unfortunately, his fish-boat went down in a storm, and she encountered financial troubles with her second shop." He raised a hand, "It is considered impolite to inquire as to why a girl wears a collar. Suffice it to say that her brother tried to bid on her, and he was unsuccessful. The ... citizen that had the successful bid thought that since she was female, she had no sense, and increased the financial damage, to the point where they were forced to close the second shop. The one in East Harbour." He unwrapped the package, "Let me show you how to eat Qbit."

Z'hann looked down, and saw fluttering gills, "My fish is still breathing!"

"Oh, it's dead, that's a reflex action. It will do that for about six hours after it's caught, just means it's a fresh fish." He looked up and stood, "Free male Gix, P'ala, please join us!"

Gix sat where Maalon indicated, his two servings on the table as P'ala took the other end chair. Eddie pulled a sheathed knife from his boot, saying, "Keep it, I have another."

Gix drew the twelve inch Bowie knife, it looked like a toothpick in his hand and said, "Nice blade, Cap'n. Thanks."

"In any case," Maalon said, returning to the discussion, "You should see a small pile of salt crystals on the leaf. It is traditional to sprinkle a few on the head of the fish, to thank it for giving its life to sustain ours. Once you have done that, insert the tip of your blade under the gills, edge toward the tail, and lever it down to the end of the rear flukes." He watched them, then continued, "Snap the head back so it lies along the spine, the mouth should be touching the top fin." He nodded, "That's correct. It should fold out, the flesh can be eaten by gently peeling it from the skin."

"Don't forget to eat the S'arna leaves it is wrapped in, they provide nutrition for the body," P'ala said. "Leave one to wrap the fish in for the trash. The seeds have a top groove, insert your knife at the vertical intersection and cut the top off. If it is too strong, it can be diluted with water from the fountain."

For a few minutes there were the sounds of chewing and eating, then Maalon said, "I was telling the tale of T'mala and her shop. After running the business near to sinking, T'mala's master finally realized he was running against the wind, and tacked. He signed what she put before him, she has the business in all but law, he takes the credit for her work. However, people know who really runs the business." He looked over his seed as he sipped from it, regarding the three aliens.

"We have, as I'm certain other planets do, a conservative element in our society, one that wishes to remain docked in harbour. It is safe that way, there is no risk," Maalon said quietly. "There are others, such as myself and P'ala, that wish to sail upon the sea of stars, to see what fish there might be, to learn, to grow."

"Our colony was originally founded as a lifeboat, to preserve our people and our knowledge in the event of disaster," P'ala said softly. "That disaster happened, with our plague, we have had no contact with the homeworld, we must assume the worst, that they have sunk with no survivors. Worse, we must assume that we killed them, and that we are on our own. Our lifeboat has been patched the best we might, but we must seek help where we can."

"We now discover that one of those in our lifeboat, one who we had trusted to sail us to safe waters, has instead betrayed us for profit," Maalon said. "He has betrayed us to those who would steal our leaky lifeboat, leaving the rest to drown." He gazed at Eddie, "Captain Nigma, we do not know you that well, we have only the testimony of others to go by, as well as your own acts that we have seen. It is ... inadequate, I know. For myself, it spoke well of you when you requested to free Gix here."

"For myself, your slaves inquired after your health, and that of your mate," P'ala said. "They seemed genuinely concerned, even though they are slave to you, they care about you." She regarded them over her seed, "As free male Gix will attest to, if slaves are concerned with the health of their master, it is usually to his detriment."

"Some a' our girls more concerned than others, Cap'n," Gix rumbled through his mask.

P'ala raised her eyebrow, Gix continuing on, "One a' the girls is enjoying her collar, she enjoys being a slave." He shook his head, "Don' understand it myself."

P'ala murmured, "Hmm...", then asked, "Why do you object to the enhancement? The additional data sounds very useful, yet you shout 'Mind Control', certainly there is more to it than that."

Eddie controlled himself, "If it were only a data source, I would not be as vehement about it. However, there are certain criminals in my hometown that perpetrate their crimes using mental control of their victims. In addition, the miners help to illustrate the point, the girls can be programmed like a robot, like a machine to do whatever is required of them. With a normal slave, she at least has the option of saying 'No.'."

"She would be punished for disobedience," Z'hann said, "However, Edward, I have always emphasized the knowledge."

"And my understanding of the matter means that if your implants are removed, the knowledge and experience are removed with them," he replied. "If A'rel is enhanced, she will gain the knowledge of a healer, but not the experience. It is like having a library in your head, it does not give ability or experience." He looked at Maalon, "You need starcrew. Program the enhanced slaves," and he snapped his fingers, "Instant starcrew. However, you could say the same for an ocean sailor, she may know _how_ to sail, but..."

"But she would not be able to read the wind and the waves," P'ala nodded.

Eddie continued, "Exactly. Even if I were an experienced sailor on my homeworld, which I am not, we have a very large moon in orbit, which would affect our oceans' tides. You do not, your tides are affected only by your star, and thus are much less severe. I would need experience to be able to sail safely here, an orbital database does no good to me." He tented his fingers, "My greatest fear is that I have some forty or fifty enhanced slaves, I am literally afraid to release them on a 'civilized' planet for the possibility of what might happen, both to them and to myself. This is why I am looking to leave them here. They would be slaves, but they could not be used against their will."

"Surely there are security measures against this reprogramming," Maalon replied.

Eddie nodded, "WorkForce installed some, they were laughably easy to bypass. However, before I release these girls, they will have their software updated by someone knowledgeable, to prevent such remote programming that would turn them into a weapon."

"How could a slave girl be turned into a weapon?" P'ala asked.

"Her survival is not a concern," Eddie replied. "After all, she is only a slave. We have a term of warfare on my homeworld, known as 'kamikaze', which means a pilot who flies an aircraft into a much larger enemy ship in order to sink it. All you would need would be the basic operation of a craft programmed in, load her craft with explosives, and weld her in place to fight your war for you." He leaned forward, "With an enhanced slave, you can program her to do anything you wish, she has no choice, she is controlled by a chip the size of your fingernail," and he held up his little finger, tapping the nail." He sat back and regarded them, "Frax and the other slaves are my problem, how can I help your lifeboat?"

Maalon said, "We still maintain, at great expense, our original databases. While we have had some equipment fail, it is mostly intact. Our original colony was on the mainland, where the manufacturing plants were, we were an alternate, primarily to provide food to the mainland. As such, we have data, but no way to make most of what we store. We have worked out ways to do some things, our ceramic motors and generators, but starship engines?" He shook his head. "We understand that your homeworld is in a similar, mirrored position. They lack the knowledge, but have the industry to make things, once they know how. That brings the question, how did you come?"

"My... employer, Miss Wayne, returned with a starship and a library of technical documents," Eddie said. "I do not know where or how she did so, but we have been feverishly researching and reverse-engineering galactic tech over the last few months." He tented his fingers, "Our system is repeatedly invaded, therefore our focus has been on system defense, building our own warships and initiating trade with other systems." He pushed up his mask to take a drink, "I do not have the details, of course, but from public announcements, we have cracked anti-gravity, we are working on warp drive, one of my tasks is to determine trade partners, and obtain plans or hardware we might use for defense." Taking another drink, he asked, "I do not wish to offend, will this inquiry take longer, and will my presence be required?"

"The question should be answered by the end of the day," Maalon replied. "Your presence would not be required, other than to satisfy your own knowledge. If you wish, you may designate free persons Gix or Z'hann as your proxy." He shifted his own mask, "Why not buy the technology?"

"We would quickly go bankrupt, and this way increases our own knowledge," Eddie replied. "This way, we increase our knowledge legally, by figuring out how someone else did a task. We would not be irritating someone with large guns." He looked at his data board, "If you will excuse me, I have an appointment with one of the local attorneys. I am forming a company to invest locally, perhaps we might do business. Gix, would you act as my proxy?"

"Honored, Cap'n," he said.

------------------------

"Captain, wait!"

Eddie turned to see a middle-aged woman hurrying toward him, a slave girl trotting dutifully along behind her. The slave, surprisingly was wearing an ordinary cotton mask, instead of the usual heavy black leather other slaves wore. He waited patiently, as she came up, she introduced herself, "I'm Y'bor, this is my sister and slave Y'barra. I hoped to find you here, my office can be a bit difficult to find."

Eddie nodded, "Ladies, I am pleased to make your acquaintance." Gesturing, he said, "Lead on, please. I am glad to see that... Y'barra, was it?" The girl nodded, and he continued, "She is not forced to wear one of those black masks."

"No more than I am, master," the girl replied. "They're reasonably comfortable, but a pain to eat and drink through. It's nice to be able to talk, too," she added.

"I would imagine so," he replied as Y'bor hushed her sister.

------------------------

"I do not understand why time is critical," Eddie said as they sat on a bench, various documents spread out on the wicker tabletop before them. Y'barra knelt next to the table in the shade.

"The difficulty is that a loophole in the law allows an unclaimed slave's ownership to be contested," Y'bor said. "The Council of Elders has not addressed the issue of private ownership of slaves outside the Slave Control Board."

"Sandbars, the lot of them," Y'barra said.

"Hush, girl," Y'bor said. Looking at Eddie, she added, "The last private slave died in the plague, therefore we need to create a private, local company. Once this is done, you can bid on them in a lot. The Learned One is moving this along by having each of your slaves appear before him, thus creating their legal existence as slaves, they will therefore be automatically registered with the Board. You can then bid on them all as a lot, which will transfer their lease to you."

"Why should I have to bid on my own property?" he asked.

"Think of it as a tax. You do not have a legal existence here, you do not own land, and therefore cannot own property, and thus are not eligible to vote or bid on the slaves," she replied. "I know it makes no sense, however, the Council of Elders has not addressed the issue."

He shook his head, "No. I can see the registration of slaves for tax purposes, as you might tax shonnen or other livestock." He looked at Y'barra, "My apologies, dear." She blinked in shock as he continued, "However, I already own them. My land ownership is irrelevant. What did you pay for Y'barra?"

"Twenty-five sandurs for her initial lease registration, five per year thereafter," Y'bor said, motioning her slave to stand. She ran a fingertip over a white area on the girl's left hip, a black circular tattoo stating 'Slave Control Board' on top, 'Windfall' underneath. Below that was a number. Y'bor said, "A new slave has this placed on her registration and collaring, a bred slave when she's ten. Surely you've seen them."

"It doesn't hurt, master, beyond a brief sting. Like an insect bite," Y'barra volunteered.

"I confess I had not been looking. What happens to it she is freed?" he asked. "You _do_ free your slaves at the end of their sentences, I understand."

"The tattoo is removed, as is her collar, belt and breast-chains," Y'bor said. "We do not have a way to regenerate the skin cells, unfortunately. A bit of clothing covers the site."

"This would be placed on every one of my slaves, upon their registration," he clarified, and Y'bor nodded. "I have two hundred fifty slaves, I would need to pay six thousand, two hundred and fifty sandurs for a one-time registration fee." He consulted his data-board, "That is slightly more than one and a half kilos of tungsten. An irritant, although I do not like my slaves being so altered. However, I do have a way to regenerate the skin, so it is acceptable."

Y'bor looked distinctly uncomfortable, clearing her throat, "It would be ... slightly different with you. Y'barra is my only slave, there is ... quantity pricing that the Council has recently published." He looked at her, "In addition to the registration fee, for quantities of slaves over twenty that have not been held for at least a year, there are two different categories." Y'barra edged away as Eddie leaned in to her sister, "Tell me," he hissed.

"The categories are 'enhanced' and 'common' slaves," she said. "You would be the largest slave owner on the island, the next is High Councillor Taaman, with..."

"How... much... per... slave?" he slowly said, his eyes hard.

"I did not publish these rates," she reminded her clearly furious client. "Enhanced slaves at two hundred per, common at one hundred per slave." She cleared her throat, "High Councillor Taaman is invoiced at three and a half per slave, per year."

"And the ... creator of this new rate is?" he hissed.

"High Councillor ..." she swallowed, "... Taaman."

"No," he said flatly. "No. That is simple greed, an attempt to steal my money or my slaves. What am I getting for my 36,000 sandurs? Please don't tell me I am getting my slaves registered, this does nothing for me, or for them. Does it pay for the planetary defense? No, that has been neglected, and why? What has the Council done for the people of this planet?" He looked at Y'barra, "Fetch my companions, slave. Now." As the frightened slave ran away, he said, "I believe a demonstration is called for." Y'bor looked frightened as he leaned close, "Tell me about the Council. What do they control and how did they gain that control? I have been incredibly patient, I have been nice, I have been reasonable, but that stops. I am now reduced to force. Start from the head of the Council."

------------------------

"There are four High Councillors and a Grand Councillor," he summarized to the others as he shook his head. "I cannot believe you have simply accepted this situation." He looked at P'ala, "Surely you have been aware of the activities of your Councillors, you are an Investigator." He snapped his fingers, Y'barra scampered to his side. Pulling her into place with her waist belt, he said, "Of your population, at least a third of your females are slave. When you are a metal-poor society, surely you see the illogic of each of your slaves wearing three kilos of expensive imported metal. If you wish to mark her as slave, simply use the same technique as their free sisters use, they wear a collar also. A white ceramic collar would adequately mark her, place her registration number and the Board's logo on it if you wish. You would then have enough metal to mine your asteroid belt, to repair your ship. If you wish to bind her, tie her hands with a bit of string." He snorted, "For that matter, you could use leather for her collar and belt, and rivet or sew it on the girl."

Looking at Maalon, he said, "I will accept a one-time, flat rate for the registration of all my slaves to the firm I am forming. It will be at the same rate Taaman is paying, three and a half per slave. That is 875 sandurs, and it will be for the lifetime of the slave. As a tax registration mark is common, and I can remove it later, the girl is slave until I sell or free her. If you wish to include the slave T'ara, I can use her. In return, I will accept the responsibilities to feed, clothe, and educate the slaves, however, as I said, they will be my slaves until I decide differently. Any real estate transactions would be under separate contract." He looked at Y'bor, "Is that understood?"

"The Board will confiscate your slaves," Maalon warned.

"I think not," Eddie said. "Have the Board and the Council evacuate their district, and meet me at my ship tomorrow morning. I think you need to realize the true power of a starship."

------------------------

The next morning, Eddie greeted his guests, conducting them to the _Query's_ flight deck. They watched, fascinated, as they quickly flew several hundred miles away to one of the other small, uninhabited islands, very similar to their own.

Leaning forward from the command chair, he touched a few controls, a targeting box appeared on the main screen. Addressing his guests, he said, "This is a small anti-personnel gun, we are at its maximum range." He centered the target on a single large palm tree, and squeezed the trigger. The beam flicked out, the tree was briefly outlined, and then exploded violently. Impressed despite himself, Eddie keyed the controls while telling L'jissa at the helm, "Orbit, please, two hundred kilometers."

As they rose, he said, "The gun I just fired superheats the water in the target. As you may know, steam expands, this expanded the water in each cell of the target, and that was a small gun." He looked over at his guests, then re-centered the target on the island, where a small forest fire was now burning. "This is the lowest setting of the main gun. Please remember that it is designed to be used in space, at much longer distances." He centered the target on a ledge on the side of the volcano, several hundred meters down from the lip, and pressed the trigger.

Automatic controls whited out the screen, after a few seconds the image resumed. A column of ash and smoke rose, L'jissa maneuvered the ship for a better view. A breeze blew the smoke clear for a minute, the side of the volcano had been disintegrated.

"Back to the main island, please," Eddie told L'jissa, adding, "Over the main lagoon, at this altitude." In a few minutes, the expensive property was clearly in sight, homes hanging off the side of the volcano, people could be seen walking. Zooming in, they could clearly see the gleam of metal from slave collars. He looked at Maalon, "I thought you were going to evacuate this area."

He held up his hands, "I tried, but I was denied."

Eddie idly flicked controls, "Who denied you?"

"Grand Councillor Daala," he said as he nodded at the ancient man.

A targeting reticule once again appeared as Eddie asked, "Which one is his?"

"The light blue awnings," Maalon replied in a whisper, then nodded. "That one."

"Grand Councillor Daala?" Eddie said. "Why did you deny the Learned One's request to evacuate?"

"No damned reason to!" he cracked.

"I would say there was," Eddie said, "This is full power on the main guns. The deaths on this mountain are on your head, Grand Councillor Daala, you and the other Elders. You received and dismissed a credible warning, I will be very surprised if the entire mountain is not destroyed." His finger idly stroked the trigger, "I require an answer in five seconds, Daala. Are you going to be reasonable about doing business?"

------------------------  
_**Thursday, November 1, 2001:  
Athens International Airport, transfer lounge **__**: 09:05 (GMT+2) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Thank you," Elena told the attendant, and swiped her new Euro card through the public Internet access terminal. Logging into her email, she typed a quick message, then logged off. Yawning, she asked, "Can I get a hotel room for ten hours or so?"

------------------------  
_**Thursday, November 1, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Morton home: 05:35 (GMT-5) **__**  
**_------------------------

On her way back from the bathroom, Maggie Morton checked her email, seeing one from Elena's account:

_To: Mom (home)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 1 November 2001 02:05:32 EEST  
Subject: Hi, everyone! _

_Just a quick note to let you know I've arrived in Athens safely. There's an almost twelve hour layover before my puddle-jumper flight to Corfu. I'm going to grab a room at the airport hotel and sleep for eight or ten hours, then breakfast/lunch at the hotel (food at the airport is expen$ive!). _

_Love to everyone!   
Elena _

"Oh, thank God," Maggie said softly, hitting 'Print' and then forwarding the email to Becky and her children at Hogwarts.

------------------------  
_**Thursday, November 1, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Gryffindor table: 12:42 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

Julie put down the _Sun_, the headline reading '_Wayne mulches Green_' as her laptop 'dinged' with new email. '_Cool_!' she thought as she read the news about her sister.

------------------------  
_**Friday, November 2, 2001:  
London, Greywolf Transport, design team: 13:45 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

Sam Mullins put down his coffee as his email 'dinged', glancing at the photo of his little Meghan. He checked the video feed from the daycare she was in, he could see her concentrating on her coloring book. Reassured, he looked at his email:

_To: Mullins, Samuel (Greywolf ancillary structures group)  
From: Bickle, Travis (Arrowhead subspace group)  
Date: 1 November 2001  
Subject: Asteroids _

_Sam, old bean: _

_Miss Wayne brought up a new request of us. Asteroids, specifically the mining and tracking of same. I was thinking of a small module that could clamp on, run an analysis of the bloody rock, and transmit same to our colleagues in the Guard, along with a beacon. _

_Presumably, someone that staked a claim to the rock would want to exploit same. Therefore some way to flag ownership, and also possibly to dock an automated miner. There's millions of the bloody things, you might want to kick around some related kit in your shop. _

_Speaking of kicking, you're turning into a decent midfielder (for a Yank), but we're still going to kick your team's collective arse on the pitch tomorrow. Bring money, mate.  
TB_

'_I wasn't __**that**__ bad on JPL's team_...' Sam thought. '_Let's see, millions of asteroids, so cheap, but also strong enough to anchor an extraction gizmo. Also, a subspace beacon and a cheap computer, and a power source_...' He started to doodle on his screen, '_A hexagonal base, something that could be carried by a tender and placed on a passing asteroid. We're looking at a long time frame, so we want it modular, a remote diagnostic reporting on the health. Thermoelectric, or insulation of the components_?' He started to jot notes for the Monday meeting of his group.

------------------------  
_**Saturday, November 3, 2001:  
Windfall, North Coast, House of Justice, slave cells**__**: 04:28: (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

10048 awoke when one of her guards banged on a drum hanging from the wall. She hadn't known what to expect when she had begged her use-master in the hotel to be bought. Still, she had been bought, a worn-out slave of seventeen, chained for several long days in the holds of her new master's ship to this planet. Along with the other slaves, she had enjoyed several days of relative freedom, wandering as she would along the shore, hiking with others into town. Having the heavy black gag fixed on her was nothing to worry about, as long as they had made it back to the ship for evening inventory. They had even been issued a few coins! Coins to buy food as they would, although it was formulated for slaves and had to pumped through a feeding tube, it was a glorious bit of freedom.

She should have known it was too good to last, though. Along with the rest of Master's slaves, she had been locked into a machine, which used a laser to leave a white circle on her left hip, then imprinting a tattoo there. She had to admit it was pretty, 'Slave Control Board' on the top of a circle, 'Windfall' below, with a logo between. It had stung a bit, but really didn't hurt, and it stood out against her tanned skin nicely. The breast-chains, now those had hurt a little at first, but the guards had been kind enough to smear a cooling gel on first, which made her nipples stand out stiffly. She had gotten used to the constant music of the bells, although they did prevent her from sleeping on her belly.

She waited as the different slave cells were emptied. As each girl exited a cell, her doubled-back leash chain was linked to the neck-ring of the girl in front. Another guard checked their wrist cuffs, each girl stood about a meter apart. She tried to move her tongue in her gag, it looked like they were being taken somewhere.

------------------------

94383 arose when the guard gestured, turning on command as one checked her cuffs. Shaking her hair back, she lay in place, wiggling a bit to get comfortable as the guards used more of the local bamboo to secure her. She could feel them adjust the waist clamp, locking pins in place. One told her, "When you hear the command 'feet', they're going to pump out your waste, so move your feet to the rails." She whimpered once in acknowledgement as they finished locking her down, and a blindfold was tied in place. With a grunt, she was hoisted into the air, placed on the stack of other slave's racks, and could feel a guards arm on her new tattoo as she was lashed in place, hanging upside down in the rack. With nothing else to do, and an unknown trip ahead of her, she opened a file to begin her report to Miss Wayne, although she did wonder about the Nos Scisco company she'd been sold to, and why master Eddie had done so.

'At least it's a pretty tattoo,' she told herself.

------------------------

21209, formerly known as T'ara, knelt and waited for transport. She had been treated decently, even kindly for a slave, and had been sold to a local company, Nos Scisco Investments. She looked down at her chest, she didn't even mind the chains on her breasts, even though she wasn't as large as the girl being loaded. The white-haired slave had her cuffs checked, then was laid into a transport rack. A blindfold was fitted as a set of locking bars held the girl in place across her collar, belt, knees and ankles. She gave a soft whimper as she was turned upside down and lashed into place on the cart, then one of the guards motioned to her. T'ara shook back her hair, stood, and walked to the guard, head high. She might be a slave again, but she wouldn't show fear.

------------------------

Gix watched the locals load the slaves. They used the local wood instead of steel, but there was nothing wrong with their technique. They weren't harsh with the girls, and the girls in turn calmly waited to be bound. He watched as the smuggler waited to be bound into her rack. The slave gracefully took her place as a guard motioned to her, wiggling a bit for comfort as the curved bars slid home against her body. She tossed her head again to free her hair as the blindfold was fitted, and she was lashed in place on the cart. Gix turned, the first line of fifty slaves were arriving. He hoped they enjoyed the march, it really was a pleasant world. He stepped over to have a word with the guard captain about injuries, the Captain wouldn't be happy if one of the slaves twisted her ankle. He decided to walk behind the slaves for the first few miles to keep an eye on them.

------------------------

20515 watched as her sister 20510 was secured. It was unusual for two enhanced slaves from the same breeding lot to still be together, but the Source had been kind in that. They had not been as fortunate on some of the things they had been forced to do, Mistress had usually picked them to dispose of the 'mistakes'. She had earlier seen the last slave they had been ordered to bury alive secured on the cart behind the pull-beasts. She was glad the slave was alive, she hoped to have a chance later to speak to her, to apologize. 20515 had had to bury her sister slaves, including fourteen from her original lot that had died from radiation or other causes. She arose as the guard motioned to her, while her sister's rack was lashed in place.

------------------------

10063 went to her right knee on command as her chain of fifty slaves was secured behind the pull-cart. She waited patiently as they finished lashing racked slaves into place on the cart, she could see several of a different model WorkForce slave in the racks, as well as crates of supplies and documents. As another chain of fifty slaves were brought up to her left, she could see four free males and a female, all naked as they struggled in the grip of several guards. She was somewhat curious, these were all the former hotel slaves that her former master had bought, however he had apparently sold them all now. She shrugged to herself as one of the males broke loose, only to run into the large grey cargo master. '_Gix_', she thought to herself as the male was returned to the guards, master Gix helping them to secure him. Leaning forward, she wondered, '_Master Gix was wearing a slave collar, a judicial one, now he's not, and he's helping the mistresses. Was he actually freed? Oh, how fortunate for him_!' She sighed to herself, '_I wish I was free, but it won't happen. Master Gix is male, and has a skill, and I'm just a worn out slave girl. I probably sold for a hundred grams_.' She sighed again, '_I can dream, though_...'

------------------------

10073 shook her hair back as the thunder cracked and boomed overhead. She had gotten used to the planet's morning rainstorms, the rain soaked into the crushed stone and shells of the roadway, the runoff sluicing through the narrow channel at the side of the road. She held her head back, trying to get the most water into her hair, it would help to keep her cool later. Her leather gag would also absorb water and tighten, but some would soak into her mouth. The cart jolted as the right wheels dropped into a small hole, she stepped around it as she lowered her head to watch the rain course down the body of the slave bound in front of her, who wiggled her fingers in her cuffs, the crimped seals a bit of color against the black steel of her belt.

------------------------

"Why are those slaves being loaded separately?" Eddie asked.

"We do not have enough slave racks for all of them," P'ala said. "The tradition is that as many as possible see an execution, so they might learn and discuss it. We do not have the transport for all of your slaves to ride, this allows you to accompany them. In addition, once you have stepped on your new property, the slaves will be yours, your licenses will be in effect, and you may remove the leather masks. If you sell a slave off planet, we will need to have a copy of the bill of sale, so we might update our tax records."

Z'hann pulled him aside, "In addition, Edward, the ship does not have facilities for that many passengers. We can handle them as slaves and they will be in larger holds, you may then free them when you return. By leaving most of the enhanced slaves on Windfall, our environmental systems will not be in danger of catastrophic failure."

"It does not mean I have to like it," he said. "I would still prefer to fly there," he complained. "I am not looking forward to another week on the road, and yes, I am aware that the _Query_ is moving the station's orbit so they are overhead."

------------------------


	10. Interlude two, Fourth Year

------------------------

A/N# 0: Believe it or not, I am trying to move away from the slavery subplots. However, we've still got people out there...

A/N# 1: More deaths in this chapter...

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
-----------------------  
10 – Interlude two, Fourth Year  
------------------------_**  
Sunday, November 4, 2001:  
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 04:50 (GMT +2)  
**_------------------------

"Get up, sleepy!" Tsien told her roomie. "We've got PT in a few minutes!"

"I hate morning people," Elena said.

"Unless you want to do your run in your slippers, you'd better get up!" the young Taiwanese said.

------------------------

"Oh, gawd," Elena said. "How far is it?" she said as she tried to keep pace. She was strong enough, but could she last another...

"Only another three kilometers," Tsien said, "Lazy American."

"Demerit, Chen," their blonde instructor said as she ran alongside. "No nationalities, no history, remember? Hometown is one thing, but we're all Terrans here." She glanced ahead of the two, seeing the two rescued slaves running gracefully and adding, "Even if some are by adoption. Morton may save your life one day."

------------------------

"Why are we here?" the tanned young man asked the assembled class. "We are here to provide for the economic and physical defense of the Terran system and any colonies we may establish. We may also be tasked with the defense of allied systems under treaty, or rather, by contract."

One of the students raised her hand, "Master, what do you mean by 'contract'?"

"A point of etiquette, Ms. Seventeen," he replied to the collared girl. "As you are no longer a slave, the proper address for a male in most situations is 'Sir', for a female is 'Ma'am'. I am aware you are trying to break a lifetime habit, please try to remember this." She nodded, and he continued, "For various political reasons, we do not have a planetary government, instead a collection of nation-states on the different landmasses." He continued, "Again, for various political reasons, we are a private business operating under government contract, with government oversight. Therefore, we would sign a contract with another system for various services, as the Guard has signed contracts with local firms on the island for food supplies, maintenance, power, and so forth. Ms. Castellano?"

"Thank you," Benni said. "This is a tough galaxy we're stepping out in, so we have to be equally tough." One of the students barked a sharp laugh, Benni asked, "Mr. DiPatri, did you have a comment?"

"I ain't gonna be no fairy lawyer," the teenager sneered.

"What makes you think I am?" Benni said calmly. "You're from New York, as I recall. Would you care to guess my background?"

"One'a them shyster lawyers from DC, I would think."

"Wrong, Mr. DiPatri," Benni said. "I'm from Gotham, and like you, I'm here on probation, only mine's from federal prison." The New Yorker paled as Benni looked at her colleague, "I think a bit of our personal background would be useful."

"Da," he agreed. "Do you wish to start, comrade?"

"Thank you, _tovarish_," Benni said. She addressed the group, "Our objective is to create not just a Coast Guard that rescues people, but a Navy that can fight for our homes. As you may have heard, or experienced, our neighbors are not the nicest people. We have a nice house in a somewhat rough neighborhood, to use a metaphor." She surveyed the group, "We are aware that is somewhat contradictory, but that's the situation we're in. Treat us nice, we'll return it. Try to scam us, or cheat us, or rob us, and we'll kick ass, legally, and we'll have the firepower to back it up." She was silent for a minute, then said, "Mr. DiPatri, please come here." The student swallowed, then made his way down, standing in front of Benni. "Mr. DiPatri, have you ever been to Gotham City?" she asked casually, then asked the group, "Has anyone here visited my lovely hometown?"

Elena nervously raised her hand, "I have, ma'am. For Christmas, a few years ago."

"Beautiful city, isn't it?" Elena nodded, and Benni added in a stage whisper, "A bit of a crime problem, though." Elena nodded emphatically.

"I want to talk to you later, Ms. Morton," Benni said with a smile, then addressed the New Yorker. "Mr. DiPatri," Benni said, "Are you aware of my last name, Castellano? I'm as Italian as you are, my Fettuccine is to die for. You are also aware that we have the reputation of being 'Mafia'?" He swallowed nervously as she continued, "Are you aware of what is required to advance in rank in the Families?" She advanced on him until they were a foot apart, "For those of you who don't know, you have to make your bones. You have to kill someone, and for a woman to advance in the Families, you can't do a simple drive-by." Her attention was still on DiPatri as she said, "No, for a woman to advance in rank in the Families, and especially with conservatives like Marone in Gotham, you have to be this close, it's witnessed, and you use a blade." With a wrist-flick, she added, "Like this one."

DiPatri's eyes rolled up in his head, and he fainted. Benni checked her watch (the knife disappearing), and said, "I win the bet, first washout in eight minutes. I'll take a bottle of good vodka."

"I enjoy grappa," her colleague complained, then faced the group. "As Ms. Castellano said, we are here to show you how, to use the pithy phrase, 'Kick ass and take names.'. She is your business adviser, I am your military adviser. I served two tours in Afghanistan, I am what was formerly referred to as Spetsnaz. I will show you how to fight and win everywhere from a back alley to a bar fight. Ship tactics are under continuous review, should you specialize in that, we have various simulations for you."

------------------------

"Ms. Morton?" Benni asked, motioning Elena to walk with her, "Oh, we're off the clock, this is just casual. When were you in Gotham, and who were you visiting?"

"A few years ago, and we were visiting Mr. Wayne's house. His daughter Mattie goes to school with my brother, ma'am."

"Bruce Wayne was a good man," Benni said. "An honest man, his daughter is following in his footsteps." She walked a bit, "He did a lot to save Gotham, now his daughter is taking on a bigger challenge, saving the planet." She shook her head, then looked sideways at Elena, "You remember a few months ago, our President tried to jail her? She was my cell mate at Alderson, she arranged my probation to the Guard. I owe her." They walked in silence, "Part of succeeding in business, Morton, is knowing people, being willing to trade favor for favor. Building your network of contacts. You're making a good start, you know the _damiyo_, but you're still a hatchling, you're swimming with sharks, Morton. Our job is to train you to be a shark, so you can help protect the school, and train the next generation of hatchlings."

"I don't know if I can kill, though..." Elena said softly.

"Hopefully, you won't have to," Benni said. "It's not pretty. I grew up in the Families, and there's no such thing as useless knowledge." She stopped, and looked Elena in the eye, "When you're in a fight for survival like we are, you'll need to have that information. You may never need it, but knowing the weak point of an alien, or how to craft a deal, to write a contract to take maximum advantage may be the difference between victory, and losing everything."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, November 4, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall**__**: 08:30 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"Good morning, Bill," Mattie told the first-year as she entered the Great Hall. "You played a good game yesterday." She cracked her knuckles and grinned, "You're going up against me in February, you know."

"We've got a plan for you, Wayne," Bill said confidently. "It's a good plan, too."

"Hufflepuff, planning against Slytherin?" Mattie said with a grin, "Right. I'm shaking in my boots." She patted his shoulder, "Have a good day, Morton," she said as she walked to join her study group. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he made his way to the Hufflepuff table, where he sat, his face in his hands.

"What did you tell my brother?" Arthur asked.

"I complemented him on his game yesterday, and reminded him that he was going up against me in February," his girlfriend said. She grinned, "All's fair in love, war and Quidditch, remember? Besides, he did play a good game, for his second one."

"Oh, god," Arthur said, getting up to join his brother.

Mattie winked at Sprink, adding, "Besides, I learned that Hufflepuff has 'a plan' (she finger-quoted) to deal with me on the pitch."

------------------------

"What's the matter, Bill?" Eleanor asked the firstie.

"Mattie complemented me on my game yesterday," he admitted. "Then she reminded me that we played Slytherin in February, and cracked her knuckles." He looked up at the seventh-year, "We _do_ have a plan for them, don't we?" he almost pleaded.

"Don't worry, we do," Daphne Ballantyne said. "She's playing mind games with you," the blonde third year Chaser reassured her Seeker, glancing over his head at her seventh-year Captain and fellow Chaser. She wasn't happy with the worried expression that flitted across her face, but ran a hand through her short hair and plastered a smile on her face. "Slytherin plays a very subtle but aggressive game, but we've got them figured out."

Arthur arrived and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Bill," he told his brother.

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 5, 2001:  
London, Greywolf Transport, design team: 08:13 (GMT**__**  
**_------------------------

"What have you, Samuel?" Nigel, the head of the ancillary structures group asked.

Putting down his coffee, Sam Mullins passed out copies of his preliminary sketches, "I forwarded to you the email from Travis at Arrowhead," he started. "Miss Wayne asked about an asteroid module. My principal design criteria are outlined in the email, but I'm working on the assumptions of using as many common parts from the buoys as possible to reduce costs, like the same RTG thorium generators. This is why I'm using one of the buoy's three meter hexagonal frames, we're going to be making and servicing millions of these things."

"The same thing I'm using to build the buoys, only one instead of three," Fritz Meyers said, and Sam nodded in agreement with the German. "Instead of stacking three of them, I'm just using one, but it has to have a way to clamp on to the rock."

"Miniature harpoon, equilateral spacing," Shoji Nakamura said, putting down his tea and demonstrating with his hands and a pencil. "A squib or explosive bolt, it fires it down into the rock, and a small winch reels it back in." He flipped to the preliminary design, drawing on it, "Use internal struts, have a central, open frame two and a half meters across. You have a primary computer..."

"One of the cheap ones we're using for the buoys," Fritz added. "Capacitor ring for power storage, an RTG in each of the three sections we're using for heat and power, and insulate it." He flipped open his own handout, sketching as he talked, "Primary computer and data storage in one section, subspace transceiver in another..."

"With a way to authenticate a claim," Sergey said in his thick Russian accent, speaking for the Solar Guard. He flipped his hands, "The owner of a claim is registered by the Guard for a rock, he gets a chip from us to insert into the transceiver. The computer then transmits 'Mikhail Samoyed is the owner of this rock' and we put Mikhail down as owner. Later, if Vladimir starts to mine Mikhail's rock, we will ask questions of Vladimir."

"If he loses the chip?" Nigel asked, tea cradled in his hands.

The burly Russian shrugged. "He had best not." He leaned forward, "I would also suggest the tender crews can claim rocks under the size of their vessels, assuming they can bring them to the smelters Wayne is planning. Perhaps a smaller device they can bolt to a suitable rock to run an analysis. This would reduce the number of devices needed and the associated workload, and give an incentive to the tender crews."

Sam nodded, "That is something that could be charged on the tender and re-used. As the modules will probably go years between servicing, I'm building in redundancy, I'm also making this both human and machine serviceable, by using modules that clip..."

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 5, 2001:  
New York City, St. Paul's Cathedral : 09:30 (GMT +5**__**  
**_------------------------

"How did you get the press to stay away?" Charlie asked softly as the hymn ended.

"A combination of bribery and threats," Mattie answered quietly as people settled themselves. "Said I'd hold a press conference tomorrow at the hotel if they would respect the family's privacy today. If not, if they bothered the Cortez family, they and their parent organizations would be blackballed from the Arrowhead and Solar Guard press conferences." She grinned slightly, "Not only do I give good copy, I feed them if they get there early enough, and I work the room. Their editors would not be happy with them."

The bishop approached the pulpit, Tomas crossing himself as Arthur asked, "Did you arrange a bishop?"

His girlfriend shook her head as the priest started, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Maria Cortez, beloved wife and mother..."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, November 6, 2001:  
Windfall, East Coast, coast road**__**: 07:27: (relative)**__**  
**_------------------------

"Edward?" Z'hann waited a minute, then kicked his outstretched foot. "Edward!"

"Hm?" he said, waking from his nap and stretching. The rain drummed on the roof of the bus where the injured slaves were bound. He looked out the back, and asked, "How are the girls?" The bus lurched as a wheel hit a pothole, seconds later the cart being towed behind did also. His eye sought out the white hair of 94383, today her frame had been lashed on the third row in the middle. Above and to her left the twins were bound, as muddy rainwater splashed on their dangling hair. Eyes protected by their blindfolds, the enhanced slaves in their frames weren't _quite_ as muddy as the chained girls marching in slave coffle behind.

"Fine," Gix rumbled from where he sat on the floor (like Eddie). "Checked 'em about twenty minutes ago. Put a girl up top, pulled muscle. Put one back that Z'hann cleared." He stretched a bit himself, "Supposed to rain all day."

"Good for the crops," P'ala mentioned, then leaned forward, "I had a question, Edward. While you slept, you mentioned the term 'skirts'. What did you mean by that?"

"Mean by what?" Eddie asked.

P'ala snorted, and stood, one hand going to the overhead grab-bar. She tugged at the hem of her short black skirt, and said, "A skirt, Edward. A female garment. We cannot deduce why you would be interested, and Gix is un-cooperative. Z'hann would buy her own, unless you wish to _clothe_ your slaves."

Eddie traded a look with Gix, then said cryptically, "You are female, you do not understand. Some things are more enticing when obscure. Wake me when it is time to void waste, please."

* * *

He remembered Frax' request for a red dress, and was walking along the street, looking for a store that sold clothing for slaves. Seeing a slave wearing a short white skirt, he touched her arm, asking, and she had lead him to her master's shop. Inspecting the shop from the outside, it was cleaner than the surrounding buildings, with a small sign reading 'Tailor'. He entered as the slave held the door for him. 

"Greetings," the owner said as the slave gave her small waist bag to him, then taking her place standing before a vertical loom. With a muffled grunt of effort from behind her black leather gag, she advanced the woven cloth, a colorful pattern, before starting to pass different shuttles back and forth, tamping down the weave with each pass. The owner cleared his throat, "How may I help you?"

Eddie reached in his own pouch, extracting a couple of coins to play with before he said, "I have a license for my slaves to wear the cloth masks instead of the black masks (the slave stole a look), and I understand the white color is not required. I was also looking to buy a few skirts for them to wear." He gestured, "You have an attractive slave, one of the few I have seen wearing clothing (she whimpered), I believe clothing increases the beauty of a slave girl, it leaves something to the imagination."

"What is to imagine?" the owner said. "She is a slave, she is there for a master's relief."

"Ah," Eddie said. "Did you buy her for rape, or to increase your business?"

"To increase my business, of course," the owner said. "Her use is a secondary benefit."

"In my experience, you can have one or the other, females are simple creatures, and can fixate on one thing," Eddie said. "May I question her?" The owner shrugged, and called her over. Eddie asked the owner, "I wish to hear the truth, please do not punish her if she says something you do not like. I have always preferred the truth, even if it is something I do not like." He grinned slightly, "It is less likely to bite you unexpectedly."

"This is true," the owner said, "I will not punish her for truthful answers."

The slave whimpered and looked at Edward, who asked, "Would you prefer to wear the leather gag you are now, or the cloth mask?" She immediately pointed at his cloth mask, tearing at the heavy leather that encircled her lower face, then flashing through some signs.

"Would you interpret, please?" Eddie asked, "I am from off-planet and do not understand."

"She said, 'I hate this, master, but I am only a slave,'" he said, adding, "Do not forget it, girl." She replied with the 'master' sign, then nodded at Eddie, giving the off-planet slave sign.

"How much longer on her sentence?" Eddie asked, the girl replying with a circle.

"She is a born slave," the owner said. Eddie pursed his lips behind his cloth mask, then asking her, "Would you rather work in the shop, or satisfy your master?" She hesitated, then slowly pointed at the loom, flashing some signs. He grunted, "I did not know." She flashed some more, and he said, "I shall consider it." The slave looked at Eddie, motioning between her and her master.

"Of course," Eddie said, then said, "I am a businessman myself. In my experience a happy slave is one that is more productive than one that produces shoddy work at the end of a whip. For instance, I notice that you are not particularly busy."

The owner shrugged, "I must be here to tend to the accounts, and to supervise her work."

"Yet she clearly knows her job, she is an attractive slave, there is no reason why she cannot be used to build your business." The owner leaned forward as Eddie continued, "She was the only slave I saw wearing a skirt, when that is what I was looking for. Yet it is a plain skirt, she would draw the eye more if it was more colorful." He asked the girl, "Do you have a basket of scraps? Bring a few large pieces." As she scampered off, he asked the owner, "Why have you not applied for a license to free your slaves from those horrible gags? They make no sense."

"I only have one, and the license is a hundred sandurs," he objected. "She is only a slave, it is not worth it."

The girl returned, and Eddie asked her, "You are aware you are a slave? You are not likely to forget it?" The girl gave an emphatic whimper, tugging at her tight collar, then at a breast chain, and lastly her tight slave belt. Giving another whimper, she knelt, submitting to her master. "She is a slave," Eddie said dryly, adding, "Stand up, girl and show us what you have." Looking at her master, he said, "I will give you two tips to increase your business, it is guaranteed to pay for the license for all your slaves."

"She is my only one," he said.

"For now," Eddie said. "I foresee your buying more shortly. First, you must spend money to make money. Secondly, you must give her a motivation to promote your business, but you will have to free her of the gag first. Pass me the largest piece, girl, and remove your white skirt."

She passed a colorful scarf over, reaching behind her to unbutton the skirt, stepping out of it and passing it to her master. Shaking her hair back, she placed her hands on her head as Eddie wrapped the cloth like a sarong, tying it over her left hip, under her slave belt. "I presume the registration tattoo must remain visible, it was on her skirt." he mentioned, and she whimpered once. "Pass me a smaller one, we will pretend it is a properly sewn mask. Hands behind you, girl." he tied it over her nose, draping down over her mouth. He took the last piece from the clearly excited girl, adding to her master, "One thing I have noticed is that females have definite ideas about fashion, what is attractive and what is not. Notice what pattern she chose." Handing the last bit to the slave, he said, "Following the law, girl, your breasts." She immediately twisted it, draping it over her chest, her right shoulder bare, tied on her left shoulder.

"Hmm," her owner said. "It will get dirty, though." She gave a disgusted look at her master, and Eddie said, "Of course. It will be washed, and she will wear other cloth while it is being washed, which you will sell."

"How do I need to spend money, though?" he asked.

"Two ways," Eddie said. "The first is for her license. If you get a property license, it will cover all your slaves, instead of just her. The second way is to pay her a commission on her sales, and yes, I know she is a slave. She is also a walking, talking advertisement for your shop, unless," he paused, "You wish to remain poor." He smiled at the girl, who was clearly excited. "The idea is to get sales in the door. This is not the best location, but it will do for now. What is your name, girl?"

She flashed signs, and he interpreted, "My mother called me S'ana, master."

"Very good," Eddie said with a smile. "However, we shall keep that a secret. You see," he addressed her master, "This unnamed slave happens to know you have a new designer, named S'ana. She was purchased from the offworld slaver, and you are the only one to have her designs for slave wear. She has never seen the slave, she only knows about it through shop gossip, as you are keeping her secure. She is blindfolded when the slave is fed, you see." He extracted a pen from his pouch, and told the girl, "Sign 'S'ana' in one corner of your mask. That is your designer logo. Anything foreign, different is exciting, it creates demand, and that, my unnamed slave, is what you will market. You are marketing slave wear, attractive, functional and sexy slave wear, that every slave on this island is going to want, and they will beg their owners for."

"Slave wear?" he asked.

"There is a population of almost 190,000 on this island," Eddie said. "Of those, 33,000 are we poor, foolish males, and there are over 50,000 slave girls, all naked but for their chains. Our poor unnamed slave here is a walking advertisement for your products, and if ten percent of those 50,000 slaves convince their masters to buy..."

* * *

Edward was jolted awake, P'ala saying, "Waste stop. We must hurry to get the slaves done before the rain starts again." 

"Yes, thank you," he said. "How may I help?"

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, November 6, 2001:  
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 13:33 (GMT +2)  
**_------------------------

"On your terminals you have a quiz on the basics of the Interstellar Commercial Code," Benni said, to the groans of her students. "We don't expect you to have the whole thing memorized, especially as this is more of a 'gentlebeings' agreement. This is the closest thing to interstellar law, ship operations are covered under the Spacer's Guild regulations. In addition, there are several questions where one of the options conflicts with our current international law, which is what we are basing our system law on."

Tsien raised her hand, "Ma'am, what do we do when there's a conflict?"

"You need to make a decision on what you think is right, and make a persuasive argument, and just to throw a wrench, it depends on where the case occurs. We are looking into establishing a 'free port' based in orbit around Titan, one of Saturn's moons. This will allow foreign traders to tranship through a bonded warehouse, while they transact business. You can assume the warehouse and foreign trade zone exist."

Elena asked, "What about ..." she cleared her throat, "... slaves, ma'am?"

"Good question," Benni said. "There are two schools of thought, one that we cannot exclude one 'product' from a free port, which is by definition outside customs and excise law. The other is that we have a moral obligation to fight the enslavement of other sentient beings. Give me your opinion, and support it, it's an extra-credit assignment. You've got until Friday afternoon to email it to me."

------------------------  
_**Thursday, November 8, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Charms classroom**__**: 13:05 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"Miss Wayne, I hope you were planning on coming to the meeting after class," Professor Flitwick said, looking up from the roll.

"Yes, sir," she said, catching the gleam of excitement in his eyes. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

------------------------

"Well, now," Filius Flitwick said, rubbing his hands with excitement, "I have some wonderful news. I have managed to redirect the link from the stasis spell to a charm, now comes the challenge of powering that charm continuously. Severus?"

"For how long does the charm power the spell?" the Potion Master asked.

"I need to recast the spell every 36 hours," Flitwick said, taking a cloth off a glass case. Inside was a burning cigar, the eddies of smoke were frozen above a small gemstone on a chain. "I first lit that cigar two weeks ago," he added.

"Interesting..." Severus mused. He turned to look at the group, adding, "If we can operate off a longer time frame, and have a wizard in attendance to attend to the potion's renewal, then a simple tank and pump might be all that is required."

"This is a fairly small spell, only a few inches," Filius said. "We would need to know exactly how big a spell we need to cast."

"I can get you a mockup with the actual dimensions," Mattie said, looking at Anne. "Would you need to include the power source in the spell?"

"No..." Filius mused. "However, some method of indicating the mockup has power would be useful," he said. "Blinking lights, same voltage and wattage as the actual device would serve."

------------------------  
_**Friday, November 9, 2001:  
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 13:04 (GMT +2)  
**_------------------------

"Everyone enjoy their morning run?" Benni said, adding as she leaned against the desk, "Times are definitely improving. I've gotten everyone's ideas on a trade port, they range from totally open to totally closed."

Walking about, Benni said, "Tsien, you suggested a totally closed system, for defensive reasons. Give me your reasoning, please."

"Yes, ma'am," the young Chinese said. "Right now, we're vulnerable. I'm certain we have spies out there, but we don't have a way to stand off another invasion, our tech isn't up to it yet. If we close the system, we assume everyone's hostile until we open the borders again, when we're ready."

"When is 'ready'?" Yukio Hirobumi said. "We went through that in Japan, isolationism did not help us."

Elena cleared her throat, "I understand that galactic tech goes to 'good enough' and stops," she offered. "Can we get to shouting distance of 'good enough', and then we can look into enhancements? We've already figured out so much, in just a few months, that way we're not trying to hit an ever-moving target."

"Until we get to 'good enough' we can't close the borders even if we want to," Melissa Jourdan said. The dark-skinned former Royal Navy pilot added, "We've got to find out what we've got, we don't know if we've got more pirates in the outer system. We don't even have a way to close the borders even if we wanted to. To close a harbour, you'd station warships, or install a minefield, but we'd need billions of mines, or missile batteries." She shook her head, "No, we need a defense in depth, a way to channel an enemy into our sights, and the best way to do that is with ships."

"And to do that, we need trade, a reason for people to stop, to trade with us," Yukio said. "That's why I suggested a totally open port. There's no reason we can't tax something that's going to stay here."

"I was transhipped once through a port," Seventeen said. "We were kept in cages and fed until we were loaded on another ship."

Elena nodded, "That ties into my suggestion of a customs area," she said. "We can do health and safety checks, and store cargo for a fee in a bonded warehouse station, refusing things like illegal drugs or..." she looked sideways at Seventeen, "...slaves."

"How does one declare a drug for different species?" Tsien asked. "Cocaine may be necessary for a particular species' survival, if so, that would certainly stimulate trade. What about other intoxicants, like whiskey? How do we determine..."

------------------------  
_**Saturday, November 10, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, High Table**__**: 07:27 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

With a 'crack' and a burst of golden fire, a slightly singed postcard fluttered down to land in the butter in front of Minerva McGonagall. She calmly picked it up, wiped a bit of butter off it, and stood, "Miss Bundy, I believe this is yours?"

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 12, 2001:  
Windfall, East Coast, coast road**__**: 08:01: (relative)**__**  
**_------------------------

With a creak, the bus stopped. P'ala looked up, "We have arrived. Gix, I will need your assistance with the prisoners. Edward, if you can arrange your slaves in rows so they may see the gallows, we will do the male traitors first. The female and the off-worlders can wait, there are only three positions."

------------------------

With a jolt, the cart she was riding on stopped. Chris moved her head, she had felt spatters of mud, she was happy for the blindfold that had protected her eyes, even though she hadn't been able to watch the passing scenery. She felt the cart shake with the heavy tread of Master Gix as he boarded the cart, she heard Master Edward and the rattle of chain as one of the line of slaves was moved.

------------------------

10063 stopped, patiently waiting as her Master walked back to the cart, glancing up at the dark grey sky. The rain had stopped briefly, but the dark clouds promised more. Master Gix boarded the cart, leaning over to untie one of the local prisoners. With a tug on their leading chain, a line of slaves stood, walking the way they had come.

'_What is occurring_?' she thought to herself as she knelt as ordered, her left foot flat, right knee on the gravel roadway. '_There is nothing here except the bend in the road, the waste extraction facilities and the stand of trees to the south_.' She shrugged to herself, '_I shall know when masters tell me_.' She watched Master Gix carry another prisoner away, and then Master was waving at her chain to stand. Doing so, she waited until the slack was taken out of her neck leash, then leading off with her left foot, followed the girl in front of her.

------------------------

Slave 51720, also known as Chris, felt her rack unlashed from the cart she had been lashed to for the last several days. Feeling hands on the blindfold, she closed her eyes in preparation for the light as she was released from the rack, and guided to sit on the edge of the cart. With a rattle of chain, she was leashed to another slave, and stood on slightly wobbly feet.

------------------------

P'ala watched, looking down from the scaffold as the slaves were moved into place, lined kneeling in the road and watching. Gix placed the second nude male prisoner, kneeling him on the trap with a large hand on his shoulder. She pulled the noose over his head, snugging it down with the knot behind his head. Moving to the side, she loosened the rope from the cleat, giving the proper length, then resecured it to the cleat. With a hand on his elbow, she helped him to stand as Gix fetched the last prisoner, wondering '_What must he be thinking_?' as she did with every execution.

------------------------

K'dak watched in horror as her mate was placed on the scaffold. Thrashing, she pulled at her bonds as she knelt in the grass a few meters away. She hadn't really believed it, she was certain that all the money, all the influence they had given Daala would rescue them from the gallows.

------------------------

P'ala looked down at the watching crowd, then called, "We are here to see justice done. These three citizens were convicted of conspiracy to sell our planet to off world interests, of illegal import of off world machinery and supplies, of illegal import of slaves, of failing to register and pay taxes on those slaves, and finally of the murder of those slaves." She looked around at the silent crowd, then called, "Citizen Gix, have the safety bars been pulled?"

He rumbled back from ground level, "They have been pulled on all three, Citizen P'ala."

"Then let justice be done," P'ala called, and pulled the lever.

------------------------

Chris watched emotionlessly as three of her former masters dropped, the ropes tightening on their throats. Their legs scrambled as they danced on air, their faces slowly turning blue as they lost control of their bowels, the blood draining down forcing an erection on each. As their legs stopped moving, they swayed, twitching on the end of their ropes, eyes bulging. Hearing a snort, she looked sideways to another slave, one of the two that had tried to bury her. Meeting her eyes, the other girl snorted again and nodded her head, then twitched her head toward the female that knelt in front of the central noose, watching her mate die and knowing she would follow him.

------------------------

Edward Nigma waited, stoically watching the execution. He conceded it was an effective example of rough justice, placed so anyone might see. He watched as the three dead slaves were placed in their coffins, lying at the foot of the gallows, as P'ala slid a sheet of paper in a frame before each hanging corpse, one of them still twitching. He turned to inspect his slaves, most were riveted by the display, although some were bent over at the waist, trying not to vomit in their masks. He shifted to look at his slaves, three or four turned to look at him, meeting his eyes and nodding. He returned the nod gravely. Shifting his bothersome mask, he placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled, calling, "Enhanced slaves stand!" Moving to face them, he ordered, "Go to the central square of the compound, kneel with your heads to the ground, facing the road. I want to see grass or mud on every slave's forehead!" He moved to the first line of hotel slaves as the chain of enhanced girls moved off, repeating the instruction.

------------------------

10063 had watched in morbid fascination as the three masters died. She could understand the snorts and whimpers of approval from the enhanced slaves kneeling before her, she had served masters that she would have liked to see on the end of a rope herself. That _slaves_ were allowed to witness executions for the murder of slaves was... was... shattering. She turned to look at her sister slaves, their eyes were as wide as hers. Shifting, she caught her master's eye, and gave him a nod of approval, which he gravely returned. '_This is an interesting master_,' she thought to herself, allowing for the first time since her collaring a tiny bit of hope as she stood, her chain following the enhanced slaves across the gravel road and into the trees.

------------------------

B'tor rubbed her pregnant belly as she watched the execution, her expression hidden behind her cloth mask. She spent a lot of time on a shonnen cart as part of her accounting firm's business, she watched the female prisoner squirm toward the central gallows, looking up at the hanging male. She felt some sympathy, anyone who had just watched their mate die would. '_She knows she's going to follow him_,' she thought, recalling the weekly island newspaper's treatment of the sensational case, the female had been primarily responsible for the murder of slaves. She turned to look at the off-world slaver Nigma as he whistled his slaves across the road. '_What must his slaves think_?' she wondered.

------------------------

C'han'a watched the execution, she had a better view from the driver's seat of her shonnen cart. She had seen quite a few, but an execution, especially for ones as well connected as the Happy Slave owners had been, was rare. Still, the way it had been done, a slow strangulation as opposed to a quick snap of the neck showed general public sentiment. While she was only a slave, she still heard free people talk, she saw the gestures of slaves, she knew the general sense of outrage, of betrayal. '_What will happen now_?' she wondered. The presence of WorkForce was raising questions about their defenses, questions that were being avoided, or addressed with platitudes by the Council of Elders.

------------------------

Edward trotted across the road and into the trees behind the last of his slaves, hoping to beat the rumble of thunder and the resumption of rain. '_I wonder if this planet has a rainy season_,' he idly wondered, thinking about his upcoming speech.

------------------------

Gix finished re-securing the prisoners to their slave frames, they were in emotional shock, seeing their colleagues die in front of them and knowing they were next. The female's eyes were wide, they could not leave the middle corpse. '_A relative_?' Gix idly wondered.

------------------------

"Close your eyes for a minute," Eddie told the last slave, and pushed her forehead to the ground. He nodded, and walked to the front, "All of you, heads up, eyes open, your attention, please," he called. "I need to have this said before the rain starts again," he added. "First, by touching your heads to the ground at my command, you became the full slave property of Nos Scisco, a company based here on Windfall. Some of you may be aware that slavery on Windfall is for a fixed term of years, and then you are freed. Only two of you fall under that category, and I am using a much older law. That goes back to the colony's founding, in which off-planet slaves are owned by a Windfall company, and which has not been repealed or modified by the Council of Elders. One slave voluntarily enslaved herself under that law, so you are slave until death or a company director frees you."

He watched their disappointment, then said, "However, I have pledged to honor the food, medical care and education stipulations of the leasing contract. One other thing, the enhanced slaves will not be going off planet unless I place them on a ship myself. It is far too easy to reprogram you, the former Happy Slaves amongst you will attest to that." There was a rumble of thunder, and he glanced at the sky, adding, "I know that you are tired, you are dirty and you wish to clean yourselves and rest. However, it is not all bad news. Christine, please stand up," and a startled girl stood. Eddie unlocked her leash, gently turning her around. "This is 51720, also known as Christine. She is now first slave, she speaks with my voice, you will obey her commands like you would mine, you will submit to her discipline like you will mine. She will also be bunking with you, and will be reporting to me on a regular basis, so any concerns you have may be expressed to her." He glowered, adding, "I will not be pleased with any slave who decides to become physical with her. Lastly, I am aware that the masks you wear are ... unpopular. I have obtained a license that will permit you to wear a cloth mask, however they have not yet arrived. As you cannot go unmasked, you will wear these until then. If you forget the cloth mask, you will once again be locked into the leather one." He saw P'ala arrive, adding, "Your court seals will now be removed and your hands freed. If you wish to bathe, the ocean is a few hundred meters that way. Please do not go deeper than the top of your belt, as I understand the currents are strong here." There was a strong crack of thunder, and he said, "On the second thought, do not go in the ocean. P'ala?"

"I will need a work detail to fetch the remaining prisoners and confine them until their executions," she said. "Please line up, 51720 will indicate the work detail."

"Christine," Eddie corrected her quietly.

------------------------

While his slaves waited for the few sonic showers, Eddie stopped to see the prisoners bound outside in the rain. With a gentle hand, he brushed the hair away from the female's eyes as she stood, arms outstretched and bound by the wrists and shoulders to a strong beam.

"Thank you," she said, with a wan smile.

"May I get you anything?" he asked, a tracking collar locked on her throat.

She gave a throaty chuckle, "I assume mercy is out of the question."

"That is a safe assumption," P'ala said dryly from where she stood. "You have been sentenced to death for the murder of twenty-five slaves. However, if you are willing to co-operate in informing us on the corruption you know of in the Council..."

The prisoner's stomach rumbled, and she blushed. Edward raised an eyebrow, "Have you been fed?"

"I ... don't know if I can, watching ... watching my male, my ..."

Eddie stroked his chin, wishing for a razor, and said, "Unfortunately, all we have is cold gruel. We need to unlock the facilities systems in order to have hot food, electricity, computer use..."

The prisoner swallowed, "I will do so, and tell you what you wish, but I wish to ... to be buried with ... with my male ..."

P'ala said, "I will do so, and give you a quick death." She turned to the two WorkForce agents, "As far as you both go, access to your ship and files will give you a quick death. What do you wish done with your corpses?"

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, November 13, 2001:  
London, The Strand, Thistle Holiday Inn**__**: 10:26: (GMT)**__**  
**_------------------------

"Lois? I'm here in London, what did you want to show me?"

"A few secrets, chief. Room 1024 of the Holiday Inn, right?"

"That's right, but..." there was a knock on the door, he told his cell, "Just a minute." He went to open it, to find Lois and Clark there. "Clark, I thought I assigned you a story on that sewer inspector."

"Already filed, chief," his best feature reporter said with his 'aw-shucks' grin. "Waiting in the editing queue."

Perry grumbled, stepping aside. "Well, come in, then." He knew Clark's stories rarely needed much editing. Good education, that boy. Coffee gurgled in the bathroom, and he sat down to put his shoes back on. "What did you want to tell me?"

"A few fairly large secrets, including what I've been doing for the past several months," Lois said. "However, you'll have to bury the stories." She raised her hand, "I know what you think, if I were in your shoes it would be a tough call, I'd want to print. People need to know, but in this case, it needs to be filed under 'necessary secrets'. People's lives are in danger if we publish, including ours, yours and Mattie's."

"I still want to see her for myself," Perry said, waving off the warning. Once the President of the United States threatened you, in person, everything else was small beer.

"She's part of the secret," Clark replied. "Lois has the Queen's permission to let you know, if you'll agree to bury. If not..." he shrugged, "Enjoy London, and I'll see you back at the _Planet_."

"This is big enough for you to bury?" he said, "Especially you, Lois?"

His toughest reporter, Lois Lane, globally feared by politicians to the point of incontinence, subject of innumerable death threats and frequent kidnap victim, nodded. "These stories are big enough for me to bury, chief, and it's not just because of the Queen. I gave my word."

"Damn you, I need a cigar and a minute," Perry grumbled.

"Non-smoking room, chief," Clark said.

"I'll smoke on the damn balcony," he snapped.

After a few minutes when Perry stood on the balcony, lit stogie in hand as he stared at the London skyline, he grunted, flipping the cigar over the side and re-entered the room. He waved a hand, saying, "Sit down, won't you? I'll decide on a case-by-case basis. What's the first one?"

"The first one, chief, is one that we've debated telling you about," Clark offered as he stood behind Lois' chair. He shuffled a bit in nervousness, then blurred into Superman.

"Clark, I'm an editor, not an idiot," Perry said, unimpressed. "You think I hadn't figured it out? You screwed up with your travel vouchers, I've known for years. Why do you think I assigned Lois all the Superman stories?" He picked up his coffee, only to wince, "Cold, damn it."

"Move your hand, please," Superman said, as Lois gaped at Perry. He took another sip, then said, "Thanks. Now, does the next involve my niece Mattie, or one of her companies, and I still want to see her."

Superman blurred back to Clark as Lois said, "I'll take you to see her. She's in school now, but first I want you to meet Albus." She smiled, "Albus Dumbledore."

------------------------

"Albus Dumbledore, I would like to introduce my good friend and editor of the _Daily Planet_, Perry White."

Albus flipped his towel over his shoulder, smiling widely, "Mr. White, it is indeed an honor!" As he shook Perry's hand, he looked at Lois, who simply smiled. "I presume that you're here in reference to the _Reporter_?"

"No, Clark and I decided that we really needed to let Perry know about some things," Lois said.

"Ah, the estimable Mr. Kent. Wonderful fellow indeed." He gazed at Perry, then called back, "Tom, I'm going to have a long lunch." There was an inarticulate grunt from the back, and Albus said, "Let us get a table, and a cup of tea."

------------------------

"That was..." Perry asked.

"A house-elf," Albus replied, and sighed. "Miss Wayne has funded their manumission, which was indeed long overdue. Not one of the better points in our history, I'm afraid. I'm certain you're aware of her feelings toward slavery in general."

"The entire planet is, but she's been concealing this?"

"Among other things," Albus agreed. "She has gotten some resistance from the more conservative elements in our society, the ones who feel 'Good enough for Grandfather, good enough for me.'" He sighed, "Until she started school at Hogwarts, we were completely unaware of things like cell phones, computers, and the Internet. We had been stuck in, at least, the early 1900's, which is when our most recent textbooks were published. I believe Ms. Lane can go into our recent publishing history, and our governmental problems." He motioned to Perry's teacup, "Drink up, Mr. White, tea is good for you. I believe it would be instructive to have a walk along the Alley. In particular, Ms. Lane, please take him by Ollivander's. It is surprising how many people have magical blood and don't know it."

------------------------

"382 BC," Perry said, shaking his head. "I can't believe a business has been open that long."

"Only six hundred years in that location," Lois said, drinking her tea and watching the bustling crowd pass Florean's. "According to Mr. Ollivander, at least."

"So when do I see my niece?" Perry asked, setting down his coffee.

"Her morning class is a little messy, according to Minerva, her Headmistress. Give her a chance to shower and change. Read the paper, she'll be here."

"You might have to help with the crossword," Mattie said from behind Perry, who jumped. She grinned, giving him a hug. She motioned Arthur over, "Uncle Perry, this is my boyfriend, Arthur Morton. Arthur, Perry White, editor of the _Daily Planet_."

"Honored, sir," Arthur said as he shook hands. They sat, and there was an uncomfortable silence before Perry leaned forward, "Arthur, was it?" He nodded, and Perry asked "What are your intentions regarding my niece?"

"Uncle Perry!" Mattie wiggled the fingers of her left hand, her right in Arthur's. "I've got a promise ring, so back off, or I'll go Gotham on you." She glowered at him, Arthur shooting her a look.

"All right, all right," Perry conceded. "It's traditional for male relatives, I remember what I was like at that age." He regarded the two teenagers, "Lois has just let me in on some secrets, I had no idea this... society existed."

"I've been threatened by Mr. Wayne, Mr. Kent, and _both_ of Mattie's brothers, why should you be left out?" Arthur grinned crookedly, adding, "About one in a thousand are witches and wizards," Arthur said. "I'm sure you can understand the reasons for keeping it a secret." He nodded his thanks to Florean, who had brought over his favorite blackberry tea, along with coffee for Mattie and Perry. Lois waved off a refill, then waved her finger in a circle, "Would you be so kind?"

"You mean cast a spell? Do magic?" Mattie grinned, then waved a hand and a shimmering blue privacy spell enclosed them. "Showoff," Arthur muttered.

"Give me a break, it's one I can do," she shot back, then explained to Perry, "Different people have strengths and weaknesses here, like anywhere else. I generally suck at spellcasting and charms, I'm fairly good at potions and alchemy, and I'm a moderately good athlete."

"And you're a hell of a businesswoman," Lois said with a grin. "The last information I heard was there was a series of genes that had to be 'on' in order to do magic. The more genes that were on, the more power the individual had. I have a few on, I'm what they call a 'squib', these two have more turned on, they're witches and wizards."

"I don't, which is why I couldn't do anything with those wands," Perry said. He glanced at Arthur, "What about you, son?"

"Spells and charms I'm fairly good at," he said. "Where I fall down is herbology, plants and things, like the class we just had. I'm not much of an athlete, where this one," he ruffled Mattie's hair, "Is Olympic-class." He shrugged, "Different people. My sister's good at herbology and spells, she sucks in potions." He eyed his girlfriend, "That could be just Professor Snape." He held up his hand, "Let's not start, shall we?"

"Let's not," Lois said. "Professor Snape is Mattie's Head of House, and Potion Master, and is a rather grumpy, cynical type. He can also be rather intimidating, especially to a pre-teen." She changed her focus, "Now, what were you telling Arthur the other night. What's the big secret?"

Arthur cleared his throat, "If I may, I received an email from Mr. Kent. The entire text was four words: 'Confirmed. 400 meter error.'"

"Oh, god," Mattie said as she covered her face with her hands. "I _so_ hoped I was wrong."

"_What_?" Lois hissed. "What is this?"

"This is die-before-talking, above nuclear secrets, above the identities of the JLA, above revealing my family's secrets, Aunt Lois." Mattie said. "Arthur is the sixth person on this planet to know, my own blood relatives don't know this. That's why I want a wizard's oath from you before revealing this, you CANNOT print this. Is that understood?"

Lois was thunderstruck, "If I print..."

"... the oath would normally strip your magic," Arthur replied. "As a squib, the associated charm would kill you when it detected the attempt." He leaned forward, "Ms. Lane, this secret is that important. If you can't give it, and I won't hold it against you if you decide you can't, we'll wish you a good day."

"What about me?" Perry asked. "I can't give that kind of an oath."

"No, sir," Mattie said. "We would use a blood oath on you, a bit of black magic I learned, or you can wait outside the spell." She held his eyes, adding, "I'm going to require the same kind of oath from Uncle Clark."

"You're going to ask _Superman_ to sign a blood oath?" Perry asked in shock.

Mattie nodded, "Because he's vulnerable to magic, it could be forced out of him that way." Sighing, she said, "I could really use your help, your advice on another problem, but we need to resolve this question. What's your answer?"

"Damnit, I need another cigar," Perry said, reaching inside his coat.

"Let me drop the spell, then," Mattie said. "Smoke molecules are bigger than air molecules. Second-hand smoke, you know," she grinned, waving her hand.

"Now I wish I had that coffee," Lois said. Arthur stood and waved at the counter, a house-elf came out.

* * *

"No offense son, but why are you here?" Perry asked Arthur after the elf left, moving his untouched coffee aside to lean forward.

"He _is_ my boyfriend," Mattie said as Lois sipped her coffee.

"Give an old newsman a break," Perry said. Turning to Arthur, "You look like a nice enough young fellow, and she's clearly fond of you, but she's only thirteen and you can't be much older. Which makes it a little early for her to be introducing you to the extended family. So why are you here?"

Arthur remained silent long enough that it was almost a surprise when he did answer. "Mostly, to provide an independent viewpoint."

"Explain that one to me, son."

Arthur said slowly, "Mattie is a 'big picture' person. She thinks big, she plans big and she executes big."

"Fairly obvious, son. Go on."

"It is, but sometimes she forgets that big pictures are made up of lots of little pictures, most of which belong to other people."

Mattie interjected, capturing Arthur's hand again, "He stands up to me when I'm wrong, backs me when I'm right and when almost everyone else in the world thought I was dead, he never once lost faith. I trust his judgment even when I don't agree with him."

"In that case, he has to know pretty much everything," Perry noted, and they simply regarded him.

'_What secrets do those two hold_?' Perry asked himself. As young as they were, he saw some of the same love he saw between Lois and Clark and between himself and his wife Alice. Knowing Mattie as he did, it failed to surprise him. "Son, I don't envy you that job."

"It's not the kind of job that should go to anyone who wants it," Aurthur replied quietly.

"Just to someone who can do it," Mattie added.

------------------------

Perry White leaned on a railing sightlessly looking along the alley, lit stogie in his hand and thought. There had been some rather odd speculation about his niece in the newsroom, especially regarding her push to ... his thoughts slithered to a stop. '_Confirmed by Superman_,' he thought. '_Could it be? Could she have... If this is published, it's the story of ... and I'm being asked to bury it. Because this story can't be published, if it's what I think. If I did, circulation would go through the roof, but hell, if I did, the death toll..._' His decision made, he took his first and last draft on the stogie, then strode back to the table.

"Wayne," he told his niece, "I'll write the story I think it is. If you confirm it, it's buried. I'll want to see your data before I agree to bury it, and I'll take your blood oath. If you don't agree, it's published." He turned to look at Lois, "Lane, you have an idea what it is?"

She nodded, "Same conditions, Wayne. I don't see Perry's, he doesn't see mine, but you'll see both. No one else, including Clark or Arthur, here."

"Agreed," she said, extending her hand, which the other two took.

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, November 14, 2001:  
Pakistan, Tora Bora: 20:06 (GMT + 5) **__**  
**_------------------------

The young seeming black haired woman watched from the shadows as the tall, frail old man struggled to find rest. Pale, she wore a silver ankh necklace, as she watched him shiver in the stolen US Army sleeping bag, laid out on the cold cave floor. As he finally stilled, she took a few steps, crouching next to him and saying in soft Arabic, "Osama, come."

------------------------  
_**Thursday, November 15, 2001:  
**__**Taurus Aurielius**__**, Docks: 21:29 (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

Sandra Woosan moaned, and heard a young woman's dryly amused voice, "I believe the traditional question is 'Where am I?' The answer is in the cargo bay of my shuttle." She heard footsteps, and the owner of the voice continued, "Don't bother trying to move, you're in my device, and while you are, you've got a temporary neural block." Sandra turned her head (about all she could do), and saw a nondescript young blonde wearing a short yellow turtleneck under a comfortably-worn tan jumpsuit. She took a seat, sitting on the edge of a metal stool. She was right-handed, wearing a laser pistol, the holster tied to her thigh. The legs of her jumpsuit were tucked into black knee boots with a low heel as she pulled a white plastic console on an arm into place in front of her. Smiling, she said, "You may, for the next few minutes while we talk, call me Pamela, and you are?"

"Sandra, Sandra Woosan," she said as she tried to move her body. "What's going on, why am I here?"

"You're here, Sandra Sandra Woosan, because you stood out in that bar when you fought off that drunken Khund with only a staff. By doing so, you drew my attention. Admittedly, you were fighting in self defense, and you didn't kill him, but to your misfortune and my future profit, I happen to be a member in good standing of the Slaver's Guild. As for what's going on, I've already placed a nice, tight slave belt on you, your hip implant has been reset to 'slave', and once I push that button there, you'll be collared."

"You can't do that! It's illegal!"

"Actually, I'm perfectly legal," Pamela replied, unruffled. "I have a transit license from the local Guild, which lets me buy and sell slaves locally. Generally, as a courtesy, a transit licensee will go through the Guild's market, and since my particular market is fighting slaves, I was glad to take some of their more unruly slaves off their hands." She fluttered a hand up, "Already taken up to my ship. A few months of proper training and conditioning, and they'll be ready to fight in one of my pits. Admittedly, you're more of a kidnapping than an enslavement, but that really won't matter in a few hours, will it?" She smiled, "I've done this before, and not had any problems. Now, who was your Okkaran training master?"

"Who?" Sandra blinked in confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about, I haven't committed any crime!"

"Native talent!" Pamela clapped her hands together in glee. "Oh, am I going to make tungsten off you! The Warlords of Okkara?" Sandra shook her head, and Pamela squealed in delight, "Oh, a barbarian! You're going to be worth that 'special export license' fee!"

She leaned forward, ruffling her captive's hair, "As far as breaking the law, are you telling me that you've never driven too fast? Never cheated on your taxes, a bounty hunter _not_ breaking the law?" She smiled, "I admit that I ... assisted ... your co-operation last night, chemically. A little tiny patch on your neck, it was necessary after I darted you."

Pamela grinned, a friendly smile, "Not that the information is going to do you any good, in a few hours you'll be another slave in my holds. I doubt anyone will ask, but after covering your bar bill and assisting you here after you were injured in that fight, I offered and provided medical assistance. Now, med-tanks are expensive, when I requested compensation for my expenses, you declined to pay. Very rude of you, so I checked local law for the port. Failure to pay a justified expense like medical treatment when presented, or failing to make arrangements to pay said bill is grounds for a collar."

Leaning forward, she tapped the device Sandra was locked into, "Given that you took out a Khund, I've got this set for 'Extreme Security'. You're not getting a standard slave collar, you're getting a security control collar. I'm not taking chances on you, you're already wearing wrist and ankle cuffs that are high security, like your slave belt." She patted Sandra's exposed head, "Normally, when I've got a slave stretched out like you are, I would just set this for the common belt and collar, but not you!"

Sandra coughed, and Pamela opened a bottle of water, taking a gulp and then holding if for her prisoner. Sandra nodded, "Thank you. This thing does the belts and collars?"

"Yes, we insert a bar of 'slaver's steel' in the machine, every so often we buy a new bar from the Guild. They're the only ones that know what it's made of, they also make the usual cuffs, chains and so forth." She patted the machine, "I'm not interested in renting you out for rape, so it's seamless, your belt only has the standard connections for elimination of your wastes, and like my other slaves compresses your waist." She took a gulp of water, "It doesn't seem to have affected their fighting style."

Sandra twisted her head, "You can wear them if you like it so much!" Her head turned, trying to follow her captor, "You said everything's removable. I was unconscious, let me out of this thing, and I'll pay you!"

Pamela walked back into her captive's sight. "Now why would I settle for five hundred grams for a medical bill when I have so much more available when you're collared? Yes, in theory it's removable, but that really doesn't matter. You'd need to be locked into this again, and have someone else run it. Since you're a slave, no one will even think about it without a court order, and who will argue for you? I certainly won't, your hip implant is already reset to slave, I'm registered as your owner, transmitted to the Guild, I've paid taxes on you, all that legal nonsense. Automation is a wonderful thing, however, I want to be fair." Sandra turned her head, as Pamela came to a decision. "We'll go to your ship, if your mate pays my bill, I'll sell you to him for that amount. I won't even charge extra for the collar and registration fees. However," she leaned close to Sandra, "If all you have is a slave or two, then as a slave, you can't own them. I'll file a claim on them and your ship with the court. With that title, I'll leave the ship with a broker and sell off your slaves." She watched Sandra's face, adding, "You should have freed at least one."

Sandra fought with her unresponsive limbs, changing the subject, "Were you saying that any person walking by a slaver can be kidnapped, enslaved and sold off?"

"Of course not," Pamela looked offended. "We do have a code of conduct, ethics codes and so forth. No, the citizens of this world, and others, are perfectly safe, as long as they follow the law." She leaned forward to tap Sandra's nose, "You did, but you also beat a Khund unconscious, and that's going to draw attention." She shrugged, "That's not safe, but then I would wager you don't travel in convoy, either. It's too slow for you."

"Of course," Sandra agreed warily.

"Convoys are where I make my money," Pamela said. "All those bored crews and the passengers on the liners, they get tired of looking at the passing stars, and so I offer them blood sports. If they wish, they can watch from the comfort and safety of their ships while my slaves have bloody fights in the sand pits. Since I'm also a very safe means of transport, I carry other, more ... inconvenient prisoners as well, like Princess Q'nan." She sat back on the stool, "I really must thank you, I'll be able to collect the bounty on her and you've done all the work."

"What about pirates?"

Pamela made a dismissive, flipping gesture. "Pirates attack single ships, not convoys. That's why insurance is available for ships in convoy, not a single ship traveling alone. However, it also means they travel at the speed of the slowest ship, your greatest danger is before you enter or after leaving a convoy. No, the risk to your average citizen from a slaver is if your ship captain doesn't know what she's doing and falls prey to a pirate, or they run foul of a government dirt side." She gestured out the open cargo hatch, "A government wants to stay in power, their 'misguided' citizens are arrested for some reason, duly convicted and collared. Before their equally misguided relatives can buy them, they're sold to someone like me who ships them off-planet."

"That can't be right!"

"Who said it was right? Right or wrong has nothing to do with it, it's _law_, and that's where an average citizen is at risk, by drawing the government's attention. If they keep their nose clean and pay their taxes, the government ignores them. I'm at risk if I haven't paid off the government, what I call a bribe, they call a transit license." She made a dismissive gesture, "I don't care about local politics, whichever government is in power knows enough not to piss off the Guilds. I keep my licenses current, don't go looking for trouble, and carry on the family business. You didn't think all the slaves you see on the streets were from WorkForce, did you? They'd love to have the market share, but most of them were imported from off-world, just like you'll be exported to another world and resold there." She linked her fingers, "Are you just off the farm? The Guild and local governments have been supporting each other for millions of years. We take care of their problems, they provide legal protection and markets."

She pulled the console on its arm in front of her again. "I've enjoyed the chat, but we need to get back to work. My brother David will be back soon from the courthouse, he'll need to use the machine." She made some adjustments, idly commenting, "This is a top-mark machine, it had to be built as part of this custom shuttle by WorkForce. All sorts of optional things you can plug in, including a way to remove enhancement. By the way, you won't be enhanced, just a common collar. Enhanced slaves don't fight well, they're too predictable. Open your mouth, please, I'm going to gag you for a few hours. I got a hundred free gags with the machine. Otherwise, your scream will disturb the night watch on the neighboring ships."

------------------------

Sandra stumbled behind her new mistress, a leash locked on her neck below her collar, her body aching. Pamela nodded politely to a passing Port Authority Guard, who politely returned it, wishing her "Fair night, citizen. May I escort you somewhere?"

"Thank you, no, citizen Guardsman. My new slave is going to show me something of interest, her former ship."

"May I see her chip, please?" the Guardsman inquired. He moved under a light as Pamela kicked Sandra's knee, gesturing for her to drop to them. The evening breeze lifted the hem of Sandra's sheer white smock, the yellow woven belt tying it on her left side. He looked at Pamela, "She was registered an hour ago. Why are you out walking with her? This is long after the markets have closed, where did you purchase her from?"

"She refused payment on a debt, it's a legal collar. Fair night, Guardsman," Pamela said, jerking on Sandra's leash.

"Please don't move, citizen," the Guard said pleasantly, his hand dropping to his weapon. "I am most curious, what debt did she refuse to honor?"

"Medical, from a bar fight," Pamela said, tugging on Sandra's leash. "Come _on_, slave!"

"Don't move, slave," the Guardsman said, who whimpered obediently. "Were you a slave yesterday? Were you the subject of a private sale?" The girl whimpered twice, emphatically. He looked the kneeling girl over, "Small female slave, slanted eyes, black hair in two circular disks over her ears, you match the description I have of a _free_ female who defended herself successfully from a drunken Khund using only a wooden staff. She was last reported being assisted from the tavern by a blonde female wearing a Slaver's Guild under-tunic and a tan ship-suit. Yet now, you are gagged and wearing a slave collar. Did your mate refuse to pay your debts?"

The girl whimpered twice, and the Guardsman looked over at Pamela. "I recognize you now. Questions had arisen about some of the citizens that had fallen to your collar, however we did not have cause to violate the sanctity of your ship. However, you are not now aboard your ship, you are on a public street in the port with a freshly-collared slave, after market hours. You also state you wish to retrieve something ... don't move, citizen!" His sidearm was pointing at Pamela, he told her, "Face the wall, citizen, feet apart. Slave, circle behind me, back up to her and extract her sidearm from the holster, drop it next to my foot." With a whimper, Sandra did so, the Guardsman told her, "Kneel, head to the ground. Citizen, hands apart on the wall, half a step back." There was the ratcheting sound of handcuffs, the Guardsman said, "I have cause to investigate a possible kidnapping and illegal enslavement." He looped the end of Sandra's leash around Pamela's neck, telling Sandra, "Slave, lead me to your ship."

------------------------  
_**Saturday, November 17, 2001:  
**__**Taurus Aurielius**__**, Docks, Bay 646: 07:29 (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

The Port's roaming Judge rang the chimes, telling the people gathered before him, "This court is now in session. For the duration of this hearing, all witnesses will be considered equal before the law. Guardsman, your report?"

"Thank you, milord," he said. "Late, two nights ago, I encountered two persons in the dock area of bay 755, a blonde female wearing the colors of the Slaver's Guild and a small black-haired female slave wearing her leash. Upon inquiry, I had cause to detain both, suspecting a possible kidnapping and illegal enslavement. The black-haired slave was the owner of the starship _Blade_, renting bay 757, the blonde female a co-owner of the shuttle in this bay. With her owner's enslavement, the _Blade_, her cargo and her crew of slaves would then be available at port auction, I have placed a block on that lot pending resolution of this case."

The Guardsman turned, "I requested that both ships, this one and _Blade_, be blocked from departure clearance by the port, as I recognized the blonde female. Previous to this, questions had arisen about some of the persons collared by her, however, the ship had cleared orbit and was thus out of jurisdiction. That night, the citizen was on a public street in the port, she claimed non-payment of medical expenses. An inquiry with the Slaver's Guild matched the Port's records, she has used the same reason in three previous cases over the last year, milord." He looked at Pamela, "In all cases, the subjects of those collars were the victors of bar brawls, she assisted them to this shuttle, in the previous cases one must presume they woke up slave aboard her ship. In this case, however, she became greedy, and wished to obtain two additional slaves and a starship. She had already filed claim forms with Greel and Daughters, licensed starship brokers for the _Blade_. I have also blocked that claim pending the determination of this case, milord."

"What of the bar fight, who started it?" the Judge asked.

"Milord, from what the barman says, the Khund started it, the subject was simply the object of the Khund's attention, she defended herself with a staff and did not kill him." He turned, looking into the open cargo hatch, "Milord, I can see a staff from here that matches description, and what looks like a bundle of clothing on a table that matches what the subject is described as wearing. I formally request permission to enter the ship to retrieve these items."

"I believe it likely, you have the court's permission, with the owner's permission this court will relocate inside the cargo bay, out of the sun." Pamela shrugged, and the court moved.

------------------------

"She was treated for injuries sustained in the bar brawl, the Judge said. "What injuries were those?"

One of the court baliffs touched the med-tank's readouts, "Cuts, bruises, a broken wrist, and she was removed treated, but unconscious," he said. "Timestamp 20:58," he added.

"Dragged across the cargo bay to the machine," the Judge mused. "Still naked from the med-tank of course, locked in place at what time?" he asked the local WorkForce rep, who swallowed nervously from the console, "Fi... five minutes later, milord. Ankles and wrists while the belt was being formed in place. Everything set for extreme security. Implant was read, then changed and updated, the information sent to the Guild and the Port with... her slave number. About ten minutes later, she's collared. I don't know why the delay."

"Were you ever asked to pay for your medical treatment?" the Judge asked. Sandra whimpered twice, definitively.

"Why is this slave still gagged?" the Judge asked, turning to Sandra and asking, "Have you been fed or watered today?" She whimpered twice again.

"While she is being watered, what is the contents of her bag?" the Judge inquired.

One of the guards replied, "Three and a half kilos in coin, small hairbrush, small tube of red paste, Owner's wand to a starship... slave control chip for the slave in question, keys, small slave control unit..." There was some coughing, and the slave said, "Please, master, my chip..."

"Place her chip in the controller," the WorkForce fellow said. "An extreme security collar gives increasing levels of pain to the slave the longer it is out of a controller. She must feel like dying."

Sandra sighed in relief as it was inserted, saying, "Ahh. Thank you."

"Thank you, _master_," the Judge corrected her. He told Pamela, "I am not pleased with your treatment of this slave. What is the typical range of a control chip?"

"One hundred meters or so outside the ship, but in port, she would be controlled by the Port's system, so she could walk about and perform her tasks," the Slaver's Guild representative said. "I hope you don't think that the Guild promotes our members collaring passer-by off the street!" she quickly added. "All our merchandise is properly and lawfully enslaved before sale."

"And yet that is the case your member is making," the Judge replied. "There are sufficient doubts in my mind that I will ask for an audit of your members' records over the last... year, I think. For now, transhipment of slaves through the port is locked until the slave's record is examined." He leaned forward, "I am certain that the Guild will be fully co-operative, records falsification is of course a crime and will merit the Guild member one of their own collars." The Guild representative was pale, she nodded dumbly.

Turning to the WorkForce sales-being, the Judge said, "I find in favor of the victim. Lock her in the machine and remove her collar and belt." He addressed the slave, "Unfortunately, enslavement removes your legal identity. Once your collar is removed and you are freed, I will take your suggestion on a suitable punishment for such identity theft, battery, false imprisonment, attempted kidnapping and illegal enslavement as you might prefer. I may not do so, but you might speak your wishes." He looked at the WorkForce man, "Well, get to it!"

With a light sheen of nervous sweat, he motioned the girl to kneel in place, and locked her in, almost forgetting the small secondary ring that emplaced the leash collar. Sliding one of his two company issued over-ride chips in place, he stretched her taught as she grunted. He licked his lips, not liking the guard looking over his shoulder as he reviewed the settings, then asked the girl, "Ready?"

"Get this damned thing off my neck," she said, and he pushed the button. She screamed as the seconds ticked on, the 'Operation Complete' light finally coming on. He keyed the remote release, he had heard about this wench, and she was ejected onto the deck, where she lay, moaning softly.

Still collared. Still belted. Still a slave.

"I don't know what could be wrong..." he muttered, looking over the controls. "This is brand-new hardware, a new model, this is only the third collar its placed..."

"Master, may I suggest an experiment?" the blonde slave asked the Judge. "Perhaps we should verify basic function of the device. Would you declare me slave, then free me?"

"Why should I do this, why should I free you?" the Judge asked.

"Master, I've read the law. In this system bred slaves are illegal, they must be enslaved on a case-by-case basis. I request my freedom on this basis, I am the sixty-third generation of slaves from my homeworld, although my former mistress was not the one to enslave me. In addition, we must also have clear title to the _Blade_ and the other two slaves. If I am freed, I will accept that title, as I have served on that ship."

The Judge gazed at her for a minute, then said, "I am heartily sick of adjudicating cases regarding slave ownership. Very well, we'll do so, but what about a collar and belt?"

"Master, I would much rather not," she replied. "I might wind up in the same situation as that girl. We can continue the experiment, if successful with me, we can try to remove..." she looked around, focusing on Markos. "His collar and belt. If I am granted title to the ship and slaves, I will free him."

"I can at least free two slaves today, possibly three," the Judge grumbled. "Very well, while not the best logic, it will do. Proceed," he told the WorkForce agent, and she knelt in place, and screamed as her implant was updated.

------------------------

"My implant was changed from 'slave' to 'slave', and then to 'free', correct?" the blonde wearing the tracking collar and cuffs asked from where she knelt in the machine.

"Correct," the WorkForce rep said, relieved _something_ was finally going right for himself and his company. She turned, asking one of the Port Guardsmen, "Citizen, would you please independently verify this?"

He disconnected the small read-write device from her left hip, scanning it with his portable unit, then looked up at her, "Verified, citizen."

"Thank you, citizen," she replied with a sunny smile, turning to the Judge, "Milord, it is my understanding that enslavement removes previous legal history."

"Correct," he agreed. "Where are you going with this, citizen?"

"Having been enslaved, and now freed, my previous person is no more, just as that girl's history is no more, correct?" The puzzled Judge nodded as she continued, "Milord, with your consent, and with the girl's, I will assume the ownership of the _Blade_, and ownership of two slaves, one male, and one female."

"Milord, I need a new identity," the girl continued. "If I become ... Diijon, I have clear title to the _Blade_, sparing the court adjucation of that case. I also have clear title to both slaves. Should this be granted, I will request immediate manumission of the male slave, as he has existing Guild Engineering ratings. I will offer him a position aboard the _Blade_ as Engineer at Guild rates."

"If you become ... did you say Diijon?" The girl nodded, and the Judge continued, "You will need to transfer the ship's licenses to your new name, and you have already lost any Guild ratings you may have had. You will have to pass the certification examinations again, and you cannot carry passengers without a Guild certified crew."

"Master, is there any Guild barrier to carrying slaves without certification?" the black haired slave asked from where she knelt.

The Slaver's Guild representative spoke up, "The ship already has a Slaver's Guild transport license, required to transport slaves as cargo or crew. To collar a slave, you would need a trader's license upgrade."

Diijon thought for a moment, then said, "Milord, the female slave is more difficult. If her collar and belt can be removed, if she can be freed, I will retake the Guild examination before departure, and accept her as free crew, with the requirement that she gain Guild ratings."

"Why should I agree to the transfer of ownership?" The Judge asked. "I can see your desire to obtain the ship and the two slaves. However, if she remains a judicial slave, what then?"

"Master, may I confer privately with her?" the petite, black-haired slave asked. The Judge nodded, she approached the girl, her ankles short-chained as a precaution. She bent over, her hands still cuffed behind her. She quietly said, "You know the reason you're wearing that tracking collar?"

"Local law," the blonde replied, equally quietly. "All slaves are collared, that's why I agreed. I also know we were headed away from the Empire when we stopped here, and you didn't care about what my implant said, once I explained the Empire. If you're willing to cooperate with me, all three of us can get out of here intact and with the _Blade_." She looked at the other girl, "What are you thinking?"

"That I have a bad feeling my collar and belt are on me for good. If that's true, I'm going to be playing slave for a long time with you, or I'll be a for-real slave with someone else. I think we'd better disguise ourselves and head for someplace safe. For now, I call you 'Mistress'."

"And I call you 'slave', in public at least," Diijon agreed. "Neither means anything between the three of us."

"Agreed," the black haired slave said as she resumed her place, kneeling with a slither of chain. "Master, I agree. I will go with Mistress Diijon, as crew, free or as her slave. I will seek Spacer's Guild ratings in either event."

"If you remain a judicial slave?" he asked.

"Master, what would be the difference between a judicial collar and my current one?" the slave asked.

The WorkForce rep shrugged, "Changing your lights, you're wearing one now."

"If her collar and belt cannot be removed, I would request of the court an order granting her freedom and the removal of her collar and belt to be accomplished in another jurisdiction," Diijon said. "I would also request the co-operation of WorkForce in granting such an order. Until then, I have promised her that I will not sell her, and treat her well."

"Girl, what think you?" the Judge asked. "I will give your title to Mistress Diijon, along with the court order. Until your implant and collar can be changed, if not removed, you will still have the appearance of a judicial slave, with or without the court order. If you try to exercise the court order by yourself, it is likely to be taken as an attempted forgery and an escape attempt. It seems like the best option for you, you are still a de-facto slave, if not one in law, you would otherwise be put in the market."

The girl paused for a second, then said, "I don't think slaves generally get to choose their owners, master." There was a chuckle, and she added, "I will submit to Mistress Diijon, and accept a position as crew aboard the _Blade_, if my collar and belt cannot be removed today."

"It _could_ be a problem with my override chip," the WorkForce fellow admitted. "It is brand new equipment, I have one other."

"If you can remove the male's collar and belt, we can verify his freedom," the Judge said. "We can then try that chip with the girl. For now, remove the tracking collar and free Mistress Diijon from her cuffs and the machine." He addressed the girl, "If this attempt does not work, I will order your lights changed to a judicial collar, this will ensure that the court order is treated as accurate, so you will not be accused of a forgery."

Diijon was rubbing her wrists, she took a few steps and slid five hundred-gram coins to Pamela, "For the use of your med-tank on my slave. I presume Guild rates are acceptable?"

"I think so," the Judge said as the machine was clamped in place on Markos' neck.

------------------------

"I don't understand it," he moaned, "That should have worked, it's new equipment, new chip, new everything..." he shook his head and sighed. "When I get the manuals for this, I'll have to check..."

"You don't have the manuals?" the Judge snapped, and the rep blanched.

"No, milord, they're backordered, like the new override chips, but these should have worked, and they did work for him."

------------------------

As Markos was sealed in the med-tank for the repair of his nervous system, the Judge looked sternly at the WorkForce agent. "You were able to free him of a common collar and belt. The slave is subject to a court order, can you change her collar to a judicial collar, or shall I send her someplace else? She has suffered quite a bit with this machine, I would spare her the pain."

"Pain?" he asked, eyes blinking. "That's factory def..." he said, trailing off at the Judge's expression. "No, I can change that without a problem. Girl?" For the fourth time, the girl's neck was inserted, lights flashed, and the Judge asked, "Did it hurt?"

"No, master," she replied, glaring at Pamela as Diijon slid five more coins to Pamela, motioning to the occupied med-tank. "For my crewman," she said as she looked at the Judge. "I have full title to the _Blade_ and this slave?" she verified.

"You do," he affirmed. "Slave, you are the victim here, among others. What would you like done?"

The petite black haired slave glared at Pamela, then said, "Master, she wanted to use me in blood sports, in a fighting ring. I would give her the choice of a fight with me, or one of these collars she's so fond of."

The blonde slaver's face paled to match her hair, "She can't fight me, she's a slave!" Diijon moved behind her slave, with a small set of clicks, the girl's hands and feet were freed, and she moved into a ready position.

"Yet it seems ... just somehow," the Judge said. "If she does it at the court's order, there is no penalty accruing to the slave. Choose, or I shall."

The slaver swallowed, then took a step back, pulling down a zipper.

------------------------

"I like this judge," Diijon said as they walked back, her slave's arms full with clothing, boots and other equipment. "Not only did we get title to the _Blade_ and you, but we also have a punitive award of the shuttle and its contents." She looked sideways, "That gag isn't too uncomfortable?"

The slave whimpered twice, her mistress said, "We'll unbuckle it when we get back to the ship. I can see why you'd want the med-tank, it would be useful, but why that collaring machine?"

Her slave gave two short whimpers, briefly touching her collar before catching a slipping boot. "Hopefully WorkForce will honor the maintenance agreement on it. In any case, the sale of this shuttle should easily finance the equipment relocation, and give the _Blade_ a bit more tungsten in the ship's accounts." The new Captain continued, "Thank you for offering to wear the gag and your chains. Free equipment is free equipment, we have a lot to carry, and they're a new lock, Source-blast WorkForce. Once we're back to the ship, we'll take them off."

Another pedestrian saw and recognized the collared wench as they waited at a road intersection, "The Khund didn't kill her? If she's going around starting fights, we're safer if she's in a collar." The road cleared as the man walked a different way, 74482 glaring after him. Her mistress tugged at her leash, the light silver chains dangling from her black metal shackles as she clutched the boots and other clothes to her.

"You still stand out, you're still too noticeable," her owner said, stopping and looking at the girl. She took a step forward, undoing the tightly coiled hair over her ears and pulling it back, letting it fall down the back of the girl's white smock. "Better, a slave's hairstyle instead of a free female's." She tugged at it a bit here and there, "You do look good with that gag and the chains, girl. We'll discuss it when we get back to the ship." She picked up the leash, sliding it along the collar ring's track as she gave a tug, "Some people might still see you as a threat, but I can't simply lock you in a cell. We have too much to do. I want you to think on this, for the next few days, while we're on this planet, I'll treat you as a slave when we're outside the bay." The girl whimpered once, her owner said, "Just gag and chains, like you're wearing now. You'd be a typical Guild crew slave, nothing unusual. Free on board, outside the ship you're a slave. I'll get you the typical Guild crew outfit, a short skirt and top, instead of that work smock."

Her slave whimpered once, thoughtfully, as her Mistress continued, "As I said, mostly good today. I'm free, both legally and from the Empire. Markos is free, and will be joining us in three days, when he's out of the tank. We've got a guard on him, and we tried to free you, twice. The bad part is that we were unsuccessful in freeing you. I hope you're not holding equipment failure against us."

The slave mused, then whimpered twice, as her Captain continued, "I, or rather, we have free and clear title to both the _Blade_ and you, you have a court order granting your freedom and a request for WorkForce to honor it." She grinned down at her slave, "We will have that bit of equipment installed in our cargo hold, along with the extra generators and the med-tank, which we have needed." Her slave whimpered, "I want you to eat and rest, early tomorrow we go to the market. All three of us need clothing and vac suits, and I understand there's a slave going on the block..." Her slave whimpered once in satisfaction.

------------------------


	11. Weeks 12 13, 18 – 30 November, 2001

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
11 – Weeks 12 - 13, 18 November – 30 November, Fourth Year  
------------------------_**  
Sunday, November 18, 2001:  
Warsaw, Babice Airfield, Arrowhead R&D: 00:04 (GMT +1)  
**_------------------------

The early morning explosion devastated the two hangers where the prototypes were kept. While the airport fire brigade was able to limit the damage to the attached offices, the hangers were declared a total loss.

Suspicions of arson were confirmed when the traces of a fuel-air explosive were found. The only injury was a security guard, who had suffered second-degree burns when he went in to rescue a cat and her litter, and the only fatality was an exploring kitten.

------------------------

At the same time, a fax was received by Arrowhead's server in London. In Arabic, it took responsibility for the attack. When the fax was later released by the Metropolitan Police, it was immediately denounced by several Islamic groups, who pointed out grammatical errors and the incorrect citations of the Koran. The police did not mention the fax's origin in Dallas, Texas, nor the other claimants that trickled in throughout the day.

------------------------  
_**Sunday, November 18, 2001:  
**__**London**__**, Bundy Manor: 04:49 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

Karen Bundy did a final check with Professor Harry, making sure their mysterious load was secure. It was some sort of computer kit, they could see blinking lights through the light cotton cover. Her sister Anne had emphasized that the equipment could _not_ lose power, even for an instant, this is why a small galtech generator had been included in the computer rack.

Harry reached out, giving a light tug on the ropes lashing the kit into the back of the van. Raising his eyebrow, he said, "Seems secure enough to me. We're not supposed to use magic on this, Hagrid will be there to carry it into the Entrance Hall."

Karen slammed the rear doors on the black van, "Sounds lovely. I'll get us out of London, trade off driving about Northampton?"

"Works for me," Harry said, as Karen walked to the right and slid behind the steering wheel. He buckled his seat belt, adding, "I wonder what it is?"

"No bloody idea," Karen said as she adjusted her seat, starting the engine. "Anne wouldn't say. We'll top off petrol in Northampton."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, November 18, 2001:  
**__**Taurus Aurielius**__**, Port, Bay 757: 05:58 (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

"She had a rough day yesterday," Diijon said softly to herself, as she looked at the sleeping slave in the cell. "Probably why the computer couldn't wake her up." Shaking her head, she turned the key in the lock, latching the heavy door open and inserted the block in the door's jamb.

Crouching next to the sleeping slave, she studied her more closely. The girl had been exhausted, but had only requested a pair of blankets, one of which she had folded and laid on the steel floor of the small two by three meter cell. The collared girl lay on her back, the other blanket had worked its way so it only covered her right thigh. '_I don't want to use her collar to wake her up_,' mused her owner. '_That would be cruel, and she's been good to me. She'd also kill me_.' An idea occurred to her, and she quietly stole out of the cell.

------------------------

The slave groaned, waving her hand over her face. Diijon grinned to herself, and flicked another bit of crushed ice and water onto the girl, who grunted. Her owner took a small handful of ice and threw it on the girl's bare chest, where part of it slid down her cleavage as she called, "Wake up, 74482. Wake up, girl." The sleeping slave remained resistant, mumbling something in her sleep. Diijon threw more ice, "Wake up, slave! We have a lot to do!"

"'M not a slave, dammit," the girl replied, lurching. "'M' feet..."

"I know that and you know that, but the galaxy doesn't," her Captain replied. "I could say that you cuffed yourself, but I shackled your ankles, you don't wake up gently, and I enjoy breathing." She ate a bit of ice, then slid the bowl of ice to her slave, and motioned at the bulkhead. "We have two keys to your chains. Yours is in the ice bowl, hide it wherever you want. Mine is in my bag. Suction your waste and use the sonic shower, then come forward for first-meal."

------------------------

Her Captain waved at the replicator, telling the girl, "A lot of liquids, you need to rehydrate and we'll be out in the heat. I'll tell you what's going on today, we will simply say you received the customary jolt of pain given to a new slave. I believe you had quite enough going through that Source-damned machine four times yesterday."

"My gratitude, Mistress," the new slave said dryly, kneeling on the deck with a large mug of tea. "What are your plans for today?"

"A point of etiquette," her owner said. "You're crew, you sit. You kneel when we have dirt side visitors or passengers, then you also use 'Mistress' and 'Master', just like any other slave. I see you as free, you didn't force Markos or I to call you 'Mistress'. However, off the ship..."

"I'm a slave girl named 74482," she said, and winced when she sat. Her mistress raised an eyebrow, the girl waved at her belt, "The belt's valve pushes up on a sensitive area, it's a bit painful. There's also the wonderful news that the waste vents now unlocks with the same key as my shackles, Markos' didn't lock."

Diijon shook her head, "That's WorkForce. They're the thousand-kilo company that dominates the slave equipment market in at least ten sectors. Aren't we fortunate that we get the benefits of their course corrections?" She made a note on her datapadd, "I'll see what I can do about getting a chained key for the cell. If you need suctioning in public, you'll have to beg me for the key..."

"A slave would not have a key to her own shackles, of course," the girl said with a snort, taking a sip of tea. "What are the plans for today, Mistress?"

"We both hide in plain sight, but we're going to have to correct you a bit to match the current fashion," she replied, gesturing at her own white halter top and thigh-length shorts. "This is actually from your quarters, you can't wear them because of your active collar. Yours will be similar, a halter top with yellow trim instead of my black trim, and a matching short skirt instead of my black shorts, sandals instead of my boots."

"And chains instead of the gunbelt," her slave replied.

"Long enough to give you freedom of movement, until we can get off this planet," her blonde mistress replied. "That's also why you'll be carrying things, but also why you'll be leashed, it gives an excuse not to back-bind you. The silver chains with the black shackles will look like ordinary chains, with a haircut and maybe some jewelry you'll look like any other girl wearing a judicial collar." She regarded her slave critically, "One problem is that you still have the speech patterns of a free female, since we have to be out and back before half-meal, and I have to convince people that you've been disciplined, you're broken to your collar. Mind wearing a gag? Remember, you have a key to it."

"I'd rather not, but to complete the disguise, I'll wear one for a few hours."

------------------------

"The hatch access code and the lock for the gate I've set for your collar number, 74482," her mistress quietly told the slave, touching the control to seal it, then gesturing, "You try it." Silently, the access lights changed, the hatch started to lower again, the slave touching the button to seal it again, then closing the protective cover. With a whimper, she gestured to her mistress, who preceded her out of the bay, where the chain fence was pulled closed and locked. The slave quietly verified to herself the operation of the electronic padlock, then pulled the bundle of Markos' old slave clothing to her chest, quietly following her mistress.

------------------------

"There is a public transport stop every fifty bays," her mistress said as they passed bay 753, the concrete walls of the bay rising to about three meters. Above them, at the corner of every bay, automatic floodlamps mounted on ten meter poles illuminated both the bays and the public road at night. "We're lucky we're so close. I'd like to check with the Spacer's Guild, both for updated copies of the training software and to see what the price of a Healer would be. If we can buy one, we can carry pharmaceuticals, high profit, low mass goods. Then the general Port slave market, I want to check on a particular slave, update our licenses at the Slaver's Guild and with WorkForce, and then the clothing and vac-suits we need. We need to hurry, girl, to be back in time." She paused at the corner, then motioned to her slave as they ran across the road to the shelter taking up the space of bay 750.

------------------------

"It's too bad, girl," Diijon told the chained slave, number 68773 on the display platform. "I can't afford you."

"Thank you for stopping to talk to me, mistress," the WorkForce slave said, shifting on the wooden platform, her ankles chained to either side, her wrists back-bound. The silver chain for her leash disappeared through a metal tube, allowing her to be chained head down. Black slave steel grommets pierced her earlobes, with D-rings through the top of her septum (flipped over the tip of her nose) and through her nipples. She shook her red hair back, Diijon catching a glance of the access port on her temple.

"Do you mind?" Diijon said. "I'm thinking about giving my own slave the same type of jewelry."

The slave seemed somewhat surprised, "Of course not, mistress," adding somewhat bitterly, "I am only a slave."

"So was I," Diijon whispered, turning the girl's head gently. "The nose ring..."

"Is through an implanted tube, like the ear and nipple holes, mistress," 68773 said. "It allows you to change your slaves' jewelry as you wish." She flipped her head, the nose ring flipping down, she added, "My only amusement. I was designed for high intelligence, creativity, problem solving, all necessary for a Healer." She looked up at Diijon, frustration in her voice, "Oh, _please_, mistress, _please_ buy me! I know I am a slave, I will never be free, my enhancement guarantees that. I wish..."

"I wish I could afford a Healer Three like you," Diijon said. "I can't even afford your reserve bid price."

"Undoubtedly a bit higher because I have yet to take the practical for Healer Two, mistress," the slave said, flipping her nose ring back. "I have passed the examination, but my owners at WorkForce decided my next owner should pay that fee." She sighed as Diijon stood, "I thank you again, mistress, and wish you a pleasant day." Once again, she lowered her head to the wood, the weighted lock pulling her leash through the small tube.

------------------------

"Delivery for you," the slave said, braking to a stop. She climbed up into the trailer and unlatched a cuffed slave girl, motioning her to get out, then muttering, "72269... there you are. Your new ship, slave."

"We're only expecting one," 74482 objected as the two slaves knelt in the cargo bay's lights.

"You've got two," the delivery slave said. "This is the _Blade_, bay 757?" she asked, checking her board. The petite black haired slave nodded, the slave continued, "There's a transfer of title for 68773, the WorkForce girl, and for the blonde, 72269, your owner won the bid." She dug two small plastic bags from a worn box, then motioned to the two gagged slaves, "Confirm the control chips match their collars and sign for them, I've got other deliveries to make."

------------------------

"I need to close up outside," Sandra told her new sister slaves, the small bells ringing on her nipple rings as she neck-ringed the last slave in the cell. "Then I'll join you in there, I've left your control chips on the table in the common room for Mistress." She closed the heavy door of the cell, her 'tail', created from her long ponytail brushed her ankles as it hung from her arse-plug. Earrings, created from the same source, brushed her shoulders as they hung from her lobes.

------------------------  
_**Sunday, November 18, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Ravenclaw table: 07:36 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

Mattie's cell phone went off, "Hello? Yes, Mr. Thompson, good morning." Her face paled, "Any casualties? Yes, of course. Of course. Certainly, full co-operation with Interpol and Scotland Yard. Do you want to handle the statement to the press, or shall I? M-hmm. Would you like me to do anything? No, I'll leave it in your capable hands, but let me know if I can help. M-hmm. What was his name? Spell it, please," she said as Sprink passed her a blank bit of parchment. She nodded, "Which hospital? Do we have a florist... their number, please." She made more notes, "Yes, I'll call them immediately, they should be open. Yes, thank you, please keep me informed." She closed her phone and absently stared at the wall.

One of the twins leaned forward, "What is it?"

"Terrorist attack in Warsaw," was the distracted reply, as the cell phone was reopened, "Good morning, this is Miss Wayne in London. Do you speak English? Russian?" She switched to Russian and continued, ("Excellent, I need to place an order, one of my people was injured in an explosion... You heard about it? Yes, I would think it would be on the local TV news. I need to order a large floral arrangement, and do you happen to have the hospital's phone number? I want to make certain there is the best care.") More notes were taken, ("Thank you, the largest one... no, I'll trust your judgment, just very tasteful. Yes, that sounds fine, thank you. Do you take American Express?")

------------------------  
_**Sunday, November 18, 2001:  
**__**Hogwarts, Entrance Hall**__**: 18:51 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"There y' be," Hagrid rumbled in the new snow as the van pulled up to the doors. Karen hopped out as Harry shut off the engine. "I hope the cold didn't bother it," she mentioned.

"It should not," her sister Anne said, blowing on her hands to warm them. "Did'st thou have difficulties?"

"Only with the new snow, which started in Manchester," Harry said as Hagrid gently placed the pallet on the stone floor. Casters screwed to the bottom allowed it to be rolled, clacking as a wheel hit a joint.

"Professor Flitwick doth be waiting in Classroom Thirteen for it, in a state of great excitement," Anne said.

"What is it?" Karen asked.

"Thou doth not have need-to-know," Anne replied apologetically.

------------------------

"This is a, what did you call it, a..." Professor Flitwick asked as the wooden pallet was placed next to the wall, and he finished warding the door.

"Mock-up, and no, this is a test unit, a live unit," Mattie said as she removed the cotton cover, revealing a four foot section of computer network rack that had been bolted to the plywood cover of the pallet. She started to fold the cover, "Arthur, there should be a laptop bag in one of the boxes, please pull it out and let it warm up to room temperature, but don't power it on yet."

"Why not power it on?" Eleanor Branstone asked.

"The temperature difference would'st damage it," Anne replied as she affixed a pair of Arthurian converters to the stone wall of the classroom with her wand. She fished a five meter power cable from a cardboard box, along with a multi-meter and a small black box. "Our equipment hath been operating continuously and doth be at a constant temperature. We also doth not use hard drives, the only moving parts are fans." She looked across at Mattie, "We must be cert to tell Professor Snape not to have corrosive ingredients, the fans are not rated for such." She returned to working with the meter.

"So what is all this kit?" Eleanor said, waving her hand at the boxes screwed into the rectangular rack as she boosted herself onto a table. Arthur held up a small screw-top jar, adding, "And this? Why is it in a baby-food jar?"

"It was the right size, and the jar was free," his girlfriend said, referring to the small jar of grayish crystals. "That's fuel, that's all that it's known by, and we don't have that much, a few hundred kilos. It's treated somehow..."

"Quantum shifted," Anne said absently, adjusting a device with a small screwdriver. "It doth allow direct conversion of matter to energy."

"Er, yes," Mattie said. "Those few ounces are enough to run this generator for several months," she patted the lowermost, grey unit.

Arthur eyed the jar with new respect. "Mattie, with a power source like this, why are you bothering with solar arrays and fusion generators?"

"Because we can build those ourselves. One thing we can't afford to do is get hooked on any technology we can't reproduce," she replied.

"How so?" Eleanor asked.

"We can build the generators, although they're not as efficient as galtech," Mattie replied. "That unit was built in Toronto. Where we have a problem is the fuel. We have approximately 850 kilos in this system, and no immediate way of manufacturing any."

"Thou doth need a way to quantum-shift the atoms," Anne said, inserting the box in one of the units and screwing it in place. Lights came on and started to blink as she fished out another small black box. "Whilst I can create an unstable black hole, or antimatter, I doth not have a way to stabilize them, and we doth need aught for a power source to convert the matter."

Arthur nodded slowly as Mattie continued, "Which is why we're not using them for minefields in system defense. One possibility is an installation on Mercury, there would probably be enough solar power, but the surface temperature is hot enough to melt lead." Eleanor winced as she said, "Aside from the military problems in defense, think of OPEC. What happens if we shift our economy over and fuel gets embargoed? If we can't make it ourselves, we shouldn't be dependent on it."

"It looks like grey sand, or salt," Eleanor said. "Is it dangerous?"

"Thou could'st eat it, but t'woulds't not be tasty," Anne said, looking up. She ran a cable from one of the converters on the wall to the small box she had screwed into the second unit. Lights came on and began to blink as Mattie patted it, "Power distribution and conditioning unit. Inputs from several different sources, output to the test unit."

"The topmost box?" Professor Flitwick squeaked.

"A router to connect to a network," Mattie said, tracing the blue network cable up and the black power cable down with a fingertip. She tugged gently at the neatly tied cables, "When the laptop thaws, we'll be able to connect to three different test networks, the one in London, in the L1 station between here and the Moon, and in Eunomia." She tapped the test unit, an innocuous white 2U network box with blinking lights labeled '_Sisal Test 5_', "A word to the wise, don't try to open it. It is booby-trapped, and will self-destruct."

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 19, 2001:  
**__**Taurus Aurielius**__**, Port, Bay 757, **__Blade__**: 04:47 (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Oh, _Source_!" Sandra heard her 'owner' say as Diijon left her cabin. She watched through the heavy wire that enclosed the _Blade_'s slave cell as her mistress scooped up the two small bags with the new slaves' control chips, darting back into the command cabin. A minute later the two slaves in the neck rings to either side sighed through their gags in relief, slumping as much as they could.

After a few minutes, Diijon came out, unlocking the cell door and pulling it open. As she stepped into the cell, Sandra said "The door!" and threw herself against her neck ring. Her owner threw herself toward the opening thrusting her right hand through, where the heavy door banged into it. Carefully, favoring her hand, she fastened the door open, inserting the block. Inspecting her hand, where a massive purple bruise was starting to form, she said, "I think I broke it."

68773, the Healer, twisted her head in her neck ring, examining it, then whimpered once through her gag.

Diijon bit her lip, "_Source_, does that hurt. Good catch, slave, that would not have been good to lock myself in here. I apologize about your collars, I didn't see the bags last night. Unfortunately, we have too much to do for me to allow an off day. If you still have some residual pain, and you feel a painkiller is allowed, um..." She looked closely at the Healer's collar, "...68773. Let me tell you how I want this ship run, then I'll release you all. 74482 here is first girl, and may name herself if she wishes." Motioning to Sandra, she said, "Her legal identity would still be 'slave 74482', as she has submitted to me. I'll give her other orders regarding you later, but you'll obey her orders, she has my permission to discipline, gag, or chain you, or whatever she feels necessary to all three of you, including herself."

She shook her injured hand, then said, "Subject to my override, of course. I've issued her a key for your chains which will not leave the ship, and she is prohibited from killing or causing permanent harm to you, no matter how much she wants to," she added, looking at the blonde. "Once you were collared, you became slave 72269, and I have bought you. Your past is past, and that is why you still live." She glanced at Sandra, "You will be fair and honest with these slaves, I will expect to hear a report from you each morning. As far as I am concerned, they are crew, like you are, our lives depend on each other. If they have a concern, they will bring it to your attention, if you cannot resolve it, you will bring it to me." Sandra nodded, "Yes, mistress."

Diijon grunted, "Second, when you are confined in here you will gag yourselves and secure yourselves in these neck rings as I'll arrange you. You are to rest and sleep here, you cannot do that if you are talking." She winced, changing it to "Now I'll show 68773 how I want you arranged. For now, I'm going to release her and find some ice."

------------------------

"Ah, that feels better, thank you, slave," Diijon said, as the two re-entered the cell.

"You are welcome, mistress," the healer said, as she resumed her place at her owner's gesture.

"I'll show you how I was trained to secure a slave in this situation," Diijon said. "The first girl..."

"Sandra, mistress," the slave said, and Diijon nodded. "Sandra, the first girl, will lock the cell door behind herself and secure you this way after she secures the ship for the night. Arrange yourselves so your backs are straight, there should be a straight line from your knees at the edge of the shelf you're kneeling on, up your thighs, belly, and neck, the only things protruding over that line would be your breasts, collar and chin."

"Mistress, kneeling on the steel will be uncomfortable and damaging to our knees," the healer said as she shuffled herself into line. "May we have padding?"

"You may," Diijon replied. "Sandra, if you don't come across anything suitable in your work, let me know."

"Yes, mistress," the first girl said. "Mistress, may I gag your slaves after I have heard their reports? Also, it will be difficult to maintain the correct posture, we will relax in sleep."

"Yes, that is acceptable. Let me adjust your neck rings, that will prevent your lax posture. Stretch yourselves up, please." Diijon worked for a few minutes, adding as she did, "Today, 68773 will be accompanying me, I will be dropping her off at the Healer's Guild for her practical examination while I take my examinations at the Spacer's Guild." She stepped back to critically examine her slaves, "The hair should not be in the neck ring, the back should be at the base of the skull, the locking ring should be under the jaw, tight, but not choke-tight. That will support you in your sleep."

"Yes, mistress," Sandra said. "What about myself and the slave?"

"Finish placing the slaving machine in the hold where we discussed," her mistress replied. "Do as much of the wiring as you can, it will need to be inspected by the Port, the Spacer's Guild and WorkForce. The two generators go in the equipment spaces, the port side one is reserved for the med-tank. The slave is under your command, you will be strict but fair with her." Sandra nodded in her neck ring, "Yes, mistress. Is there anything else?"

Diijon released Sandra, "When you have released these two, and they are at first-meal, the first girl will join me outside."

------------------------

Sandra knelt, "Yes, mistress?"

Diijon gestured, mug of tea in her hand, "Stand up, please. You're crew, you run the ship day to day. Didn't you want any tea?"

Sandra dusted off her knees, "I wasn't sure of the etiquette, mistress." She accepted Diijon's mug, taking a sip, "The morning has always been one of my favorite times," she mused. Handing back the mug, she eyed her 'owner', "You've changed the rules we agreed on, you're treating me like a slave in private. Why?"

"The way you sleep, I would have thought it was the night," Diijon replied. "I apologize if I wasn't clear. _This_ is private, just you and I. I don't trust the blonde slave, I think she'll try to steal the ship or sell us to WorkForce, and the healer may have private orders or be programmed to report to WorkForce. That's why I'm treating you as a slave in their sight, haven't you ever worn false clothing? That's why I was happy you knelt when you came out, I could give you permission to stand, in case they were watching from the ship." Diijon turned to face Sandra, "_Think_! Having someone go from slave to owner of a ship and slaves is unusual. I'm suspicious, the only ones I trust are you and Markos, we need to continue this until we're clear of Beta Crucis and WorkForce. You'll be free, your collar off, then we can find a slicer to examine the healer's programming."

"Until then, I'm treated as a slave," Sandra said.

"All three of you are treated as slaves, because all three of you _are_ collared slave girls," Diijon corrected. "That means that as your Captain, I'm going to make deals for the ship, and I'm not going to consult with my crew, free OR slave." She took a sip from the mug, then handed it back to Sandra. "As I said, this is private, you and I. When Markos is out of the tank there are things I'll discuss with him, but not with you. I'll let you know, and you can always ask either of us, but public would be any third person. That third person is going to see a mistress and her slave when we talk." She sighed, "Those are the cards we have this pass. This Tonton game is young, you may not have the best hand _now_, that doesn't mean you won't have better cards."

"I don't like it, you're thinking of me as a slave," Sandra grumbled, taking a sip and passing the mug back to her 'owner'.

"I'm sorry, but I have to in public," Diijon said. "I know you're free, but those are our cards, and yes, I know you could kill me. I'm not your enemy, your enemy put that collar on your throat. Be honest with yourself, you remember that hearing as well as I do. You were likely to be sold in the market, instead you're here, talking with me. Think it through, what does someone see when they look at you?"

Diijon took a step back, eying the petite slave in her work tunic. The black steel leash ring circled her neck just above the collarbone, her silver slave collar circled her neck a few centimeters above it. A small black steel ring pierced her nose; more slave steel anchored the delicate strands of hair depending from her earlobes. Her short-cut straight black hair was in an attractive style, sweeping back from her forehead, brushing the tops of her ears and ending above the black steel leash ring. More black steel circled her nipples, where delicate silver bells were screwed into place; steel ringed her wrists and ankles. On her feet, she wore leather sandals, tied on below her ankle shackles. The black steel of her wide, tight slave belt showed through the sheer white material of her short tunic, edged in yellow and with a yellow tie on the slave's left side. The belt compressed her waist and seamlessly dove down between her legs. As Sandra shifted, the 'tail' that had comprised her long hair was visible, brushing the back of her ankles as it hung between her legs. Diijon mused, '_She doesn't look like a trained killer._'

"Do I look like a slave?" Sandra asked, twirling in place. "I should, with all this locked on me."

"Yes, although you still act like a free female. You need to act like a slave, one that's broken, that knows her collar." She gestured at the closed delivery gate, "Any person walking by would take you for a slave, that's what we intended. That's why I'm asking you to think before killing anyone, myself or that blonde slave," Diijon said. "While we're dirt-side, you're a slave. Let's just walk through your murder of me."

"I'll make it quick," Sandra said with a wry grin, "I owe you that much."

"I appreciate that," Diijon said dryly. "So, you have a corpse lying here," she said, taking a seat on the cracked concrete. "Your first problem is disposing of the body, mine or the blonde slave." She took a sip from the mug, then looked up at the slave standing over her, who started to pace.

"The obvious thing would be to dismember it and feed the bits to the replicator," Sandra said. "I'd then have to clean the blood and other debris up," she mused. "I could simply stuff it in a lock and eject it in the drive field."

Diijon shook her head, "Several problems with that," she advised. "First, replicators like we have installed are designed to sound an alarm when someone tries to recycle large amounts of meat and bone. I think the limit is four hundred grams. Second, I would assume that the dismemberment and clean up would take time, I have appointments in the port. If I miss them, questions will be asked. If you kill the blonde, I have to report it to the Port, as she's registered to the ship. Third, ejection into a balanced drive field has to be compensated, that also ties into your escape. Do you know how to do that? Murder is still murder, your being a slave complicates the problem enormously."

"I'm not a slave..." Sandra said.

"I'm not your enemy, either. I know you're not a slave, you know that, an investigating Guardsman from the Port MAY accept that you have a court order declaring you free." She passed the mug back to Sandra, adding "Finish that if you want. Let's deal with the escape. You have two options I see, land and taking the ship."

"Land is out," Sandra said. "I have no money, I'm marked and collared slave." She finished the mug of tea, adding, "Thank you for the tea, by the way."

"You're welcome," Diijon said. "You're forgetting that slave collars have a tracking circuit, it would be a trivial matter to find you. I don't think you could run or walk more than ten or twenty kilometers. That leaves the ship." She twisted, bracing herself with her left hand on the concrete, "You would need a fast escape, the Port knows we have work ongoing, so if you leave before they clear it, questions will be raised, which you will be unable to answer. We'll assume that you lied so convincingly you were able to space, the next question is a convoy. If you join it, the boarding party will want to talk to your owner. They won't accept three slave girls in a ship, you'll be arrested and the murder will be investigated. If you don't join a convoy, you're likely to fall to a pirate, in which case..." She sat on the concrete, looking up at Sandra and waited.

"Either way, I'm sold as a slave," Sandra said.

Diijon shook her head, "If the boarding party believes you're free, they void the court order, which makes you a legal slave, and give all three of you a slow death as a warning to other slaves."

"I am _so_ screwed," Sandra said, sinking to sit on the concrete. She winced and shifted to kneel instead.

"No, you're not, IF you're willing to be patient," Diijon said. "We should have the repairs completed and certified by the end of the week, at which time the WorkForce fellow comes aboard. We figure a week or two for the trip to Beta Crucis..."

"All of which time I play the broken slave girl," Sandra said.

Shaking her head, Diijon corrected, "No. The WorkForce fellow knows about your court order, and by now the Healer has been told about it, she's probably jealous. I would be. I've helped you out in that regard by making you first girl. Objectively, if I were trying to keep you slave, I would have bound you and woken you up with your collar instead of by throwing ice, you would not have a key to your shackles, and you would have stayed in the cell until I sold you off. Objectively, the blonde would make a better first girl, she has experience and Spacer's Guild certifications." She tented her fingers, "How many do you have?"

"None," Sandra admitted.

"Then as your Captain, I'm going to order you to study for them. In addition, as first girl, you will be fair to both slaves, you are allowed to discipline them, but you are forbidden from causing permanent damage. Please note I said as your Captain, not as your Owner." She leaned forward, "You have already said you'll take my orders, will you re-affirm that?"

"After Beta Crucis, what then?"

"Hopefully your collar will be off, at which point I will offer you a position as crew on the _Blade_, at Guild rates. I would strongly suggest you stay with the _Blade_, you would be a naked female on a slave planet, re-enslaving you would be trivial. If for whatever reason your collar is not removed, you may stay as first girl, and we will determine what else to do. I have given you my word, I will not sell you off if you do remain slave." She tented her fingers, "What is your decision?"

"I will, not having a great many other options, accept your terms, and I will give my word," Sandra said. "I want to retain possession of the chip with my court order, I want to head toward my homeworld, and once we get there, I reserve the right to leave the _Blade_. If my collar is still in place, I want my court order chip and my collar's control chip in a hand-held slave controller."

"Agreeable, but we still have to make a living," Diijon said. "I'll give you the court order chip when we go aboard, however I was discussing the covert slave market with the WorkForce people." She shrugged, "They asked what I wanted with this thing, so we'll be getting some modifications to it on Beta Crucis, and we may need to make some stops along the way." She raised a hand, Sandra hauled her Captain to her feet as she asked, "What do you think about enslaving some backward princess?"

"I've never had much of a taste for royalty, mistress," Sandra said. "I've worked for everything I have, I don't like the idea of their sitting about in palaces. By the way, what's this Tonton game?"

Diijon grunted. "I certainly didn't have royal quarters, although they weren't bare stone, either. Tonton's a card game, I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. Sixteen numbered cards, naught through fifteen, three face cards, Trader, Owner, and Slave, which is both low card and wild. There are four suits, Planets, Ships, Fuel and Crew. The objective is..."

------------------------

"Slave, do I need to beat you to get you to work?" Sandra asked the blonde slave.

"No, mistress," 72269 said. "What are our orders?"

"Finish clearing out that area, we need to get that damned collaring machine installed today," Sandra replied, and the blonde said, "Yes, mistress."

She regarded the area, then added, "This needs inspecting by the port, I assume. That means we'll need to lift the deck plates and weld it to the ship's frame, that's also how we'll need to run power and data to it. Where does Mistress want it, precisely?"

"In that area, Mistress will be entering the covert slave market," Sandra replied.

"Hmm," 72269 said, walking about the area. She looked at the other slave, "Will we be punished if we interpret her orders, mistress?" She rapped on a protruding bulkhead, "This doesn't look like it's load-bearing. If we take it out, we can install the slaver here, that leaves space for you and I to handle the slaves, before and after Mistress collars them."

Sandra reached up to tap the steel, her nipple bells chiming under her work tunic. "Mistress didn't specify, I don't think she'll mind, she just wants it done. I'll go get tools, finish cleaning it out, sweep and mop it and we'll take a look. Good idea, slave." She took a few steps, reaching up to pull the taller blonde slave closer by her leash collar. Looking her in the eye, "I hold you directly responsible for my enslavement. I gave my word to Mistress I would be fair with you, and I wouldn't cause any permanent damage. I will enjoy punishing you for the smallest infraction, bear that in mind, slave."

72269 looked into the hard black eyes of the smaller slave, swallowed and said, "Yes, mistress."

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 19, 2001:  
Columbus, Ohio State University Library: 08:34 (GMT-5) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Good morning, Mrs. M!"

Maggie looked up and smiled, "Good morning, Stephanie! How are you this Monday?"

"Can't complain, my emails bounce," the petite Chinese girl said with a grin, shrugging off her backpack, smoothing her short denim skirt and dropping into Maggie's visitor's chair. The flash of a red bra strap showed under her black leotard, she unconsciously tugged at the leo. Her hand went to her left sleeve, and drew out from under her grey OSU hoodie a wand. She flashed it, Maggie's eyes going wide as Stephanie said quietly, "You recognize this, of course. You've bought three of them for your kids in Diagon Alley." Maggie nodded mutely, Stephanie said, "Not to worry, Mrs. M, I'm one of your bodyguards. We've also been doing a bit of discreet digging on you and your family." Maggie blinked, and Stephanie reminded her, "Julie's email to you? Arthur's request for access?"

"Oh, yes," Maggie shook herself, "You're a spy?"

Stephanie grinned, raising a finger in correction, "Intelligence agent, please. I'm not Jane Bond, 007. I'm seconded from the ROC National Security Bureau to Guard Intelligence, and I hate martinis." She reached down to shoulder her backpack again, "I'll see you at eight tonight, just you and Mr. M. Be out on your back porch, having a drink and enjoying the evening, and we'll give you both a full briefing. Ciao!" and she waved her hand, disappearing from view. Maggie thought she heard a giggle, but dismissed it.

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 19, 2001:  
Warsaw, Babice Airfield, Arrowhead R&D: 10:44 (GMT +1)  
**_------------------------

Mr. Thompson frowned as he looked at the fire-gutted hangers. He looked at the Interior Ministry representative, "I want better security on these. Have you found the devices yet?"

The ministry detective nodded, "One of them failed to ignite." He waved at the collapsed walls, "It was a failed thermobaric weapon, using ANFO as the dispersal agent. The overpressure from the working weapon is what collapsed the hanger walls, the fire then used the aluminum in the walls and roof as fuel."

Mr. Thompson grunted, walking amid the rubble as the Polish detective examined a steel beam. He asked, "What were they working on?"

"These were primarily prototypes," Mr. Thompson replied, as he crouched to examine something. "How did they get in?"

"The bombs were disguised as acetylene tanks," was the reply. "They were delivered with the others and stacked against the common wall. The bomber just had to enter through the office, we found pick-marks on the lock, and screw the detonators onto the correct tanks." He stood, dusting off his hands, "I'll look into getting the Army in here for security."

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 19, 2001:  
**__**Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Morton home: 20:03 (GMT-5**__**  
**_------------------------

"Where are they?" Maggie wondered, nervously glancing around. "It's past eight..."

"We were re-checking the perimeter," 'Stephanie' said, materializing out of the darkness.

"My apologies," a lean blond man said as he appeared. "I developed the habit in Afghanistan, a survival skill." He waved it off, "You do not wish to hear war stories. You may call me 'Yuri', I am former KGB, now seconded to Guard Intelligence. May we come in?"

"Would it make any difference if I said 'no'?" Maggie said bitterly.

"Now dear, you knew this was coming. There's no need to take it out on them." Turning to his visitors, not guests, he said, "Certainly, ah, would you like a drink?" Bill Morton asked.

"You are drinking Harp® tonight," 'Yuri' said in approval. "May I recommend Dortmunder®, also an excellent beer." He raised his bottle in toast, as 'Stephanie' accepted a glass of white wine. "Shall we get down to business?"

------------------------

"Rebecca," 'Yuri' continued, referring to the eldest daughter. "An excellent student, although her finances are strained a bit with child care for Carson, who is a sweet child. We shall cover him in a moment."

"You investigated my grandson?" Bill asked in disbelief. "He's only three!"

"May you be the victim of people like yourselves," Maggie ground out in Romanian. By his reaction, she knew 'Yuri' understood her perfectly. The lack of reaction by 'Stephanie' meant nothing.

"I was Red Army in Afghanistan, a nasty, brutal war," he replied in the same language. "I was transferred to KGB after we left. I served my country, Mrs. Morton, like your husband did."

"Of course we did," 'Stephanie' said to break the awkward silence, topping off Maggie's wineglass and then hers. "A through investigation was requested." Leaning forward, she said, "Mrs. Morton, I understand this is distressing for you, and we apologize. I don't think you fully appreciate what is involved here. Your son Arthur has chosen to support Miss Wayne, to be her rock, to advise and assist her. She is under tremendous pressure and I for one don't think I could bear it."

'Yuri' added, "Miss Wayne not only has the usual stress of a student, with classes, essays and homework, but she is also guiding Arrowhead, and along with that enormous research and development task, she has taken on the defense of this solar system."

'Stephanie' continued, "In doing so, she has taken on the responsibility for the safety of the billions of people in this solar system. I know that some have advised her to rule, to become the literal 'Queen', but she has instead chosen an open arrangement, to share freely, with oversight and guidance from those with more experience. She has asked that Arthur be granted the same access she has, and we thus return to our topic of this evening." Leaning back, she re-opened the file folder, "We were only able to go back to 1939 with you, Mrs. M. I'm sorry, we weren't able to find any relatives that survived Buchenwald." She gestured to the folder, "The closest we could find was a fourth cousin in Romania, he's in an old-folks home, but his name and address are in there." She took a sip of wine, "Moving along, Rebecca is currently interested in one of her classmates, a Mr. Fan. His actual name is Cho Won Fan, and he is an agent for the MSS, the Ministry of State Security in Beijing. Now, with your cooperation, we have a chance to plant disinformation..."

"Wait a minute, you want my daughter to spy on her boyfriend?" Bill asked.

"Of course not," 'Yuri' said. "However, they're going to talk, and he's going to report such to his controller. Mr. Cho's actual wife is at home in China, she is hostage to him and his son. With your consent, we will feed disinformation to Julia or Arthur at Hogwarts, you will simply forward their emails to Rebecca as family news. There is no risk, they are simply a source to him, he does not wish to harm that source. Any actual news, we shall show you a way to use a free email service as a drop-box. Now, on to Carson..."

------------------------

"Maggie, are you all right?" Bill asked as they prepared for bed.

"No, I am not all right," she answered sharply. "My daughter is seeing a spy, a married spy. My grandson is considered a security risk and that bastard 'Yuri' would be far happier if he were dead, just like everyone else the KGB has ever dealt with, including us. And while I'm thrilled to know that Arthur and Mattie aren't sleeping with each other yet, the 'we're omniscient and you're scum' attitude got tiresome after about two milliseconds."

Bill had been vetted, although not so thoroughly, during his Naval service. He could understand his wife's anger, even if he did not totally share it. "Dear, I would never expect you to enjoy having your life and my life and our family's lives being laid bare like this, but..." he said as he sat down to pull off his socks.

"...but it was 'necessary'," Maggie finished as she crawled under the blankets. "William, be that as it may, if any of them ever mention Liliana again, I swear to God, I will shoot them."

"Only if I don't shoot them first."

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 19, 2001:  
**__**Taurus Aurielius**__**, Port, Bay 757, **__Blade__**: 21:54 (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Girls," Diijon said, "We have someone who is not familiar with Tonton. Is anyone interested in helping me to relieve her ignorance?"

"I'm in," 72269 said, adding, "I was beginning to wonder if you were waiting until we spaced, Mistress."

"I assume we cannot wager our collars, Mistress?" the healer 68773 asked.

"Why not?" Sandra asked.

"If you win, you win your freedom, but what if you lose?" 68773 replied. "There's no penalty, we're already slaves. It would be like Mistress gambling the ship and losing to one of us, we couldn't do anything with it. Who wants a drink?" she asked, gesturing to the replicator.

Diijon searched through the chips, holding up a silver and black striped one, "This chip usually has different names, but I've always heard it called the 'freedom chip'. If I toss it into the game (she did so), if a slave wins it, she can use it for a day's freedom, except in an emergency."

Sandra asked, "Does it have a number value?" as she picked it up.

"Usually five hundred," 72269 said, "It's not counted in Mistress' chips, though," the blonde slave said as Sandra handed it back to her mistress.

------------------------

Taking a deck, 72269 spread it out on the table, face up. "There are four suits," she said. "Planets (indicating a blue ringed planet on a card), Ships (a black hexagon), Fuel (a grey dotted pyramid), and Crew (a red humanoid outline)." She continued, "There are sixteen numbered cards, naught (a null symbol in all four corners of the card, with a solid black rectangle in the center of the card) through fifteen (the Trade digit for 15, with fifteen symbols in the center rectangle)." Laying out three face cards, she continued, "Three face cards, Trader (two figures, one handing over a moneybag while the other had a black rectangle), Owner (a male figure holding up a stylized whip), and Slave (a female figure, hands tied behind, looking over her right shoulder, the black line of a collar on her throat.)" 72269 tapped the Slave card, "Traditionally, the Slave ranks below the naught card, but it's also wild, so you could have a pair of Traders in your hand with these two. The Trader is worth fifty, the Owner twenty. In most variants, you simply count the value of the cards in your hand. If you have a pair of one card, you double, three you triple, and so."

As she set down drinks, 68773 said, "I've heard of ships that have Tonton tournaments that go on for years. When Master Markos and the WorkForce master are aboard, there will be six of us. There's always one person 'Out', who takes over a player's hand. That lets someone suction waste or eat and then return to the game, but it would be as 'Out'." She handed a glass of ice water to Sandra, "I'd suggest you be 'Out' for the first few hands and watch us."

"With three plus 'Out', there are three decks of cards," Diijon said. "We each have a deck, which we shuffle and then pass the cut left, and it's reshuffled." She handed out two more freshly replicated decks, the two girls broke the seals and started to shuffle as she continued, "One last thing, in a Tonton game, there's no status, no Mistress and slave. That includes you as 'Out'." She finished collecting the demonstration cards and started to shuffle. "High card is dealer, low card is bank, if we were playing for money. Since it's a friendly game..." she passed her cut left and continued to shuffle, "we'll just combine the two. Girls, your top cards?" she asked, throwing a five of Fuel.

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, November 20, 2001:  
**__**Taurus Aurielius**__**, Port, Bay 757, **__Blade__**: 05:02 (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

Sandra woke up when she heard the rattle of her Mistress unlocking the cell door. With exaggerated care, she latched the door open, saying, "Good morning, girls! I'd like to thank you for your hard work yesterday, I let you sleep in." She took a step in between them, releasing Sandra, "The first girl will release you shortly, I need a private word with her. If you'd wait outside the cell?"

Sandra whimpered through her gag, nodding at the racked hoses that would suction her waste. Diijon waved at it, "Please bend over, I'll take care of that right now." Standing, the girl placed her ankles in the brackets, holding them a meter apart and bending at the waist as her Mistress connected the hoses, holding her in place.

------------------------

"You're wondering why I haven't released you yet," Diijon said as she took a seat on a bench in the bay. "I doubt you're going to like this, but it's something I want you to consider calmly and rationally. Hear me out, then I'll release you." Sandra whimpered once, warily, as Diijon took a calming sip of tea. She leaned forward, addressing the bound and gagged slave as she knelt on the concrete, "On the assumption that we can remove your collar, you know you're going to need to spend time in a med tank to get your nervous system regrown." She held up a hand, "I know that Markos was only three days, but he had a common collar. You're wearing a judicial collar, which is far more invasive, you can probably count on several months at least. You know you don't feel time passing in the tank, you go to sleep, you wake up. You would be completely helpless, and you have an enemy on this ship, the blonde slave. It would be far too easy for her to change the programming, or even simply switch it off without anyone noticing."

Sandra snorted through her gag as her 'Mistress' continued, "I don't want to simply sell her off, she's an experienced spacer, which we need, and she might be able to arrange something for her freedom, or at least to be bought by her brother. I think we're agreed that she should never be out of a collar, but that brings up another problem." The slave whimpered as her Mistress said, "You know we will be entering the covert slave market," and the slave whimpered once in acknowledgement. "I'm going to need a demonstration slave, and I have three options." Diijon took a fortifying sip of tea, "We cannot use the Healer for two reasons. First, she's Enhanced, second is that we don't wish to get on the bad side of a Healer. She knows she'll never be free, but I can at least treat her well. That leaves either of you or..."

Sandra bolted to her feet, pulling at her bound wrists as she stalked around the bay. Diijon winced as the girl started to kick at the block walls of the bay, letting her anger out. She fingered the small remote with the girl's control chip, she didn't want to use it, but would if she were attacked. She waited, the girl finally came over to stand in front of her, panting, glaring and giving two distinct whimpers.

"Sit, please," Diijon said, patting the concrete bench. "See why I kept you bound and gagged?" She received a glare, adding, "If you'll be calm and let me finish, I'll release you. As I was saying, we could purchase a slave, like an inexpensive WorkForce slave, but then we would need her to be trained, our finances are too tight to simply have her be idle." She received another glare, but Sandra sat, ready to spring up again as Diijon continued, "What would happen to the 'demonstration slave' (she gestured in the air), whether it's you, the blonde, or another girl, is that her visible collar would be removed, there would be a link left implanted in the back of her neck." Diijon touched her neck, adding, "A judicial slave is actually preferred for this, as her neural network is more thoroughly compromised. However, the collar can be removed without spending time in the med-tank, visually, she would be a free female."

Sandra stood, shaking herself so her bells rang, then looking down at her black slave belt. She glared again at her Mistress, turning to show her left hip, then sat. Diijon nodded, "I have a chip for you to read, the same one I received." Sandra whimpered once as Diijon continued, "The girl's hip implant would not be changed, it would stay as slave. The belt, depending on the client and the planet's dress code, traditions and so forth would either stay as you are, or be a minimal implant in her reproductive channel, or somewhere in between those two extremes. I would rather not use the throat implant, it would need to be surgically placed in the neck, in the trachea. One of the options available is a removable collar, for when the client wants the slaves to be visibly collared."

Diijon sat back, regarding the girl, "If you will agree not to attack me, I'll unlock your gag. As I said, this is assuming we can remove your collar, this gets it off without your having to spend time in a med tank. I'm giving you the decision, I have a chip for you to read. I'll need your decision by the time we reach Beta Crucis' orbit, that's about three weeks. If you agree to do this, I will Enhance the blonde slave, she will never be freed, never be out of a collar, and she can be programmed." The girl whimpered once, turning her back to Diijon.

------------------------

"I really don't like this idea," Sandra said, adding over her shoulder, "You can release my hands, Mistress."

"You don't blame me for leaving you like that?" Diijon said, handing over the tea mug.

Shaking her head, Sandra took a gulp, "No, I would have too," she admitted. "The tank can't be protected?"

"Not the model we're getting for free," Diijon said. "We can't afford to buy one new that can be locked out, and I wouldn't trust a second-hand unit. You always wonder why it's on the second-hand market, even if it passes all the diagnostics." She leaned forward, "Not having worn a collar, is it too tight, or uncomfortable..."

"It's snug, like some close-fitting clothing," Sandra said, running a finger under hers. "Not choke-tight. It hurts like hell when it's first implanted, after that..." she shrugged, "You stop noticing it, except when it pains you, and you know what it represents. I can see why girls forget their collars." She tapped her belt, "This is more of a daily irritant, and that's more 'Mistress, may I pee?' than anything else. What would be involved, _assuming_ I agree to this?"

"Several modules are added to the slaver machine," Diijon said. "The way I'm thinking of it, we introduce you wearing a standard belt, so you'd look like a freshly collared girl in a common collar. You're locked in the machine, your collar and belt are removed, the, er, discipline unit is placed, and you're displayed to them. They can read your implant, your collar and belt are replaced, as far as they're concerned you're just another slave. When we get to someplace you feel safe, your collar is removed permanently and your implant is reset to 'free'."

"And the blonde is Enhanced," Sandra said. "She'll be a slave the rest of her life."

"I would much rather have her Enhanced," Diijon agreed. "If we don't do that on Beta Crucis, shortly thereafter. By the time you feel safe, we should be able to afford to buy a slave to replace you, although..." she paused, "I like you, I would hope you'd stay with us."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, November 20, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Development, Conference room: 13:06 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Remember, tomorrow morning Professor Harry's going to start teaching you to apparate," Mattie said.

"Aye," Anne said. "And thou hath arranged w' the elves to instruct me in 'popping' 'twixt places."

"You're the one person this generation they'll teach, and you can't teach anyone else, including us," her sister Karen said, somewhat jealously.

"I doth wonder which generation I doth belong to..." Anne mused, then looked up, standing as Mr. Thompson escorted the visitors in.

------------------------

"Now we come to the crux of the matter," Mattie said. "What will you do if President Luthor orders the Secret Service to kidnap her?"

The captain from the Boston PD shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his colleagues from the Boston FBI office and the Secret Service. "We have to follow the orders from Washington," he admitted. "We can have... problems... in getting organized but..."

The lieutenant from the Cambridge PD added, "We can't physically oppose them, just like the campus police can't. The best we can do is assign some of our..." he cleared his throat, "...less experienced officers with vague orders."

The bloke from SO1 was sympathetic, "We're putting you between the devil and the deep, we understand. If you'll clear our lads to carry their weapons, we can proceed from there."

"No problems there," the FBI said. "Standard inter-agency procedures, and we have some of our people willing to sit in the classes." She grinned, "Getting to take classes at MIT, on the clock and on the government's dime, is not something to pass up." Turning a page on her notes, she asked, "I had a question about your requirement of an empty office on each floor of each building where there would be classes. You asked for the specific GPS co-ordinates – why?"

"Emergency transportation equipment," Karen said. "We've got similar equipment in our safe houses. Unfortunately right now it only has a safe range of twenty kilometers."

"It doth use phase-warped tachyons to tunnel through Hilbert space..." Anne started, before being shushed by Mattie and her sister. "I doth apologize..." she said, looking embarrassed.

"Quite all right," the SO1 bloke said, shaking his head. "We're more concerned with the bloody French and Chinese."

"How goes your bombing in Warsaw?" the Captain from Boston asked. "Anything we can do to help?"

Mr. Thompson exchanged glances, "The fax claiming responsibility was sent from Dallas, Texas. We haven't heard back from the FBI office there."

"Can I help?" Mattie asked. "Would you like me to call someone, like the President?"

"It certainly can't hurt, lass," he agreed.

Mattie was dialing her cell phone, "What time is it in DC?" she asked.

The FBI special agent checked her watch, "Eight twenty-five."

"Good morning," Mattie said to her phone, "This is Miss Mattie Wayne, of Arrowhead Investments in London, calling for President Luthor. Certainly, I'll wait." She doodled on her legal pad as she waited, "Good morning, Mr. President. I know you're a busy man, so I won't take your time. I assume that you heard about the terrorist bombing in Warsaw?" She nodded, "Yes, Scotland Yard has traced the fax claiming responsibility to Dallas, Texas. The FBI office there has been... rather busy and hasn't replied to their request..." She nodded and doodled again, "No, the question came up, one of the Special Agents from the Boston office was in town. No, I have people going to MIT for classes over the summer, and we were discussing security in light of the French... Certainly, I'll put her on."

She handed her phone across the table, mouthing 'Sorry' to the middle-aged woman, who gingerly took it, "Special Agent Collins, sir." She paled, "Sir, I... Yes, sir, of course, sir." She listened quietly, then handed the phone back, mouthing 'Sorry' to Mattie.

"Yes, Mr. President? When I have an agreement with you that you'll share. No, that's my requirement, we can low-key it if you want, a press conference isn't necessary, just a simple press release that you won't deny if asked. Yes, there are excellent universities, but the request was for MIT. Yes, thank you and have..." She touched the kill switch and shrugged, "He hung up on me."

------------------------

"So you already have the safe houses?" Karen asked, after Mr. Thompson had escorted their guests out. "Good move. How many, two?"

Mattie said, "At least. Duplexes, row houses, and a nice country house. We'll give the addresses to Mr. Thompson in a sealed envelope, along with access instructions." She mused, "My family has always invested in real estate. By the way, the transport platform we leaked is a Trojan Horse."

Anne waved her hand dismissively, "'Tis a baryon generator and pretty lights on a panel with switches. It doth do nothing."

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, November 21, 2001:  
Port of Guayaquil, Ecuador, Arrowhead facilities: 08:29 (GMT-5) **__**  
**_------------------------

Julio stepped off the bus, walking to the shed which covered his work site. Running his ID card through the scanner, hearing the beep, he clocked in. Flipping through the clipboard, he rechecked the work that he needed to do, when he heard a "Hola!"

Looking up, he saw a young blonde, who parked a small van. She smiled, telling him in Spanish, ("I'm Bonita, your electrician. Is this the first control cab you've worked on?")

(Yes, but my previous electrician was Felipe,") Julio replied. ("Where is he?")

("His wife went into labor,") Bonita replied. Seeing his dubious look, she laughed, ("Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'm a graduate of the University of Havana and worked in the electrical department of Port Santiago.")

("As long as you don't talk too much,") Julio grumbled. He was somewhat mollified by the well-used appearance of her hard hat.

------------------------

A battered white pickup pulled to a stop, the occupant looking over at Julio, who was leaned back in a steel folding chair with his feet up, a small radio playing music while a fire burned in a steel drum. A chicken was thrust on a section of rebar, he reached up and gave it a lazy turn while sucking at a glass bottle. Banging and feminine cursing came from the inside of the forty foot steel shipping container.

("What the hell is going on?") the foreman asked. ("Why aren't you working, you lazy asshole, and why didn't you follow the new procedures?") He looked in the shed, ("Why is the computer unplugged?")

("Screw the computer, screw your new procedures, and screw you, Mendez,") Julio said lazily. ("The work will get done, why do you care?")

("I care because some terrorist assholes blew up a few hundred million euros worth of company crap in Warsaw, and we both know what flows downhill,") Mendez replied. He reached over to tip the roasting chicken into the fire, ("Time to get back to work.")

("That was my damned lunch!") Julio roared, bolting to his feet, the bottle of beer skittering across the concrete.

("Screw your lunch!") Mendez shouted. ("You want to keep that new car and new mistress? You want us to keep those teachers and doctors at the new school and the new clinic where your kids go? Hell, if you wanna do things half assed, be my guest. But I ain't letting your lazy ass screw it up for the rest of us. One more word out of you Julio, and I will fire you.") He watched the bigger man cock his fist, ("Go ahead, take a swing or get back to work, and I'd better not see any downchecks on this unit's welding, or your ass is fired, and you get to explain to your wife why you blew the best job you'll ever have in your damned life.") His eyes challenged the steelworker, ("What's it gonna be?")

------------------------  
_**Friday, November 23, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 13:03 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Tomas?" Julie asked. "You missed lunch."

"Si," he replied, "I must learn this, my friend. I must learn this all, I have sworn an oath before God."

"You won't learn it if you collapse from hunger," Julie replied, setting down a covered plate. "There's a warming charm on it, you need to eat and take a nap before our Astronomy class tonight." She sighed, muttering "Gotham crazies," before leaving.

Professor Flitwick, who had observed this all in silence, said, "Mr. Ramirez, a fit mind and body increases your learning potential. Take Miss Morton's advice, eat and nap, if you wish extra credit you may do another research paper on the Bubblehead charm we covered today in class, and yes, you may include the tactical uses." He tented his fingers as he watched the second-year take a seat, remarking to himself, "I really must visit Gotham..."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, November 25, 2001:  
Gotham, Batcave: 02:06 (GMT-5) **__**  
**_------------------------

Batgirl groaned as the Batmobile came to a halt. After several attempts, she managed to release her seat belt, and opened the door, falling out onto the turntable. Shivering, she whispered, "Thank god for auto-drive." Forcing open her eyes, she looked down her body at her right ankle, still resting in the door, catching sight of her bust and yellow high-heeled boots.

"Damn you, Scarecrow," she said, twisting and being violently sick. "Fear of females, fear of self, fear of... damn near everything. Damn you..." She shuddered, her foot coming free, "Oh, damn, I've pissed myself." Looking up at the darkness of the Cave, a tear trickled down, "Bruce, I can't do this by myself any more. You had Alfred, I'm alone. Oh, god, I miss you..."

------------------------  
_**Monday, November 26, 2001:  
**__**Taurus Aurielius**__**, Port, Bay 757, **__Blade__**: 08:12 (relative) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Pardon me, slave, but where is your owner?" Diijon flipped the cool cloth off her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. While Markos dealt with the various inspectors, the females were taking the day off. Diijon and the blonde slave 72269 lay side-by-side on towels on the bay's concrete, while Sandra exercised with her staff, and the WorkForce healer, 68773 sat on the edge of the cargo hatch, leaning back against a hydraulic cylinder as she read a book-pad.

"The blonde," Sandra replied, and Diijon waved, "What can I do for you, girl?"

"Mistress," the WorkForce girl asked, kneeling next to her, "My master and I have the _Pannap_, in bay 762, and we would like to rent one of your slaves for the afternoon. I'm authorized to offer 100 grams for her rental."

"What would she be doing?" Sandra asked, leaning on her staff.

"Master's grav-chair needs repair, it's gone past my temporary repairs," the girl said. "Normally, Master would ride in a harness on my back, but I can't manage him and the chair, and the shop's truck is not available." She shrugged, "It would be a trip to the Port's merchant quarter, we need to do some shopping and then pick up Master's chair and return. We anticipate return no later than twenty hours."

"If you'll pay my slave directly, I don't mind," Diijon said. "She would be doing the work. Are you interested, Sandra?"

"I can always use a bit of cash, mistress," the undercover assassin admitted, setting her staff down. She motioned to the other slave, "Lead on."

------------------------

"Watch your head, master," Sandra said, ducking as she boarded the bus with the dimunitive, grey skinned old man. His ears twitched, rotating forward and back as she backed up so he could take a seat and she could slip out of the harness' shoulder straps.

The old man watched her roll her shoulders, asking, "I hope I'm not too much of a burden, my dear."

Looking over her shoulder in surprise, she replied, "No, you're not, although would it matter? I am..."

"... only a slave," a woman said. "Yes, yes, but you're a _spacer_, girl. That makes all the difference."

"Pardon me, but I'm still collared, I can still be sold in the market. I don't see how..."

The bus lurched as it got underway, the woman said, "You haven't worn your collar long, have you?" She tutted once, "Spacers depend on each other for their lives, dear. A collar doesn't mean much when what you do may mean my living or dying, so I'm going to treat my girls right, I'm not going to sell them, and hopefully they won't engineer an 'accident'." She regarded Sandra, "How did you come to wear a collar, dear?"

"I was kidnapped and collared while I was unconscious," she admitted. "The court gave me a letter, but the WorkForce agent couldn't get my collar off."

"No wonder you're bitter," the old man said. "I don't blame you, but that letter will only move you to a common collar, you'd still be a slave, unfortunately." He reached forward to pat her shoulder, "Now your collar has yellow lights, have you thought through what would happen if you were freed?" He waved a hand, "You're free, what now? Your collar is still on your neck, it's just disabled, and to do so, your mistress pays a fee of twelve kilos."

The woman added, "That's on this planet, it varies. Don't forget other costs your mistress has invoked for you. Your vac suit probably cost twelve or fifteen kilos, your clothing and jewelry another three to five, and that letter may have cost her ten kilos in court costs. The fee your mistress pays to free you only gives you five hundred grams, the rest of the twelve kilos goes to administrative expenses, lining the pockets of the greedy p'tah in the city's green dome. How do you eat, where do you sleep, all this costs money."

"That's it?" Sandra asked.

"That's all," the woman confirmed. "If you're careful with that, it will buy you a week's food. So far, your mistress has laid out up to thirty kilos in cost for you, which she would not recoup were she to sell you. Has she said anything about your Guild certifications?"

Sandra nodded, "She wants me to get them as quickly as possible."

"Understandable," the old man said. "Two reasons for that. Her insurance will be lower with you on board, and even though it costs her money for you to take the examinations, it would raise your sales price. Has she said anything about selling you?"

"She said she would not," Sandra said.

The woman grunted, "As you can see, it would not be good business for her to sell you. What I do with my girls is one of them keeps my books," she said. "For each of them, I take their share of costs and income as if they were a free spacer at Guild rates, and allocate it, half to the ship, half to them. When they reach their buy-out point, in which the income they've earned me equals their costs, I offer their freedom. They realize that if they stay with me, wearing my collar, they can have more tungsten in hand, so they do."

"I do a third for the ship, a third for a reserve fund, and a third for my girl," the old man said. "I believe she's up to about four hundred kilos now." He leaned forward, "Like she said, you're a spacer. While I'm certain that somewhere on this planet a spacer is indeed looking after children or pulling a metaphorical plow, that is only because someone didn't check her hip implant and priced her incorrectly in the market. Right now, even without Guild certifications, you're worth two or three times what a common slave would bring. With your first Guild certification, that will go up at least thirty percent. For you to pull a plow would be very poor business."

"I'm still a slave, though," Sandra said.

"Did your mistress collar you?" the old man asked.

"No, master, no she didn't," Sandra replied.

"Then you have no reason to blame her for your collar," the woman replied. "By law, girl, the only things you need to wear are your collar and belt," the woman said. "Everything else is something your mistress put on to make you look good." She swayed with everyone else as the bus came to a stop and people got on and off. With the hiss of air brakes, the bus moved again, Sandra had moved to kneel facing the two. The woman continued, "As I was saying, keeping a slave is a business decision. Ask your mistress to show you the ship's books, or if you can keep them."

The bus hit a pothole, and everyone swayed, "That's an interesting idea, mistress. What about the enhanced and the WorkForce girls?" Sandra asked.

"The judicial slaves I include court costs and fees into their purchase price, and WorkForce girls," she shrugged, "Not much I can do. They can draw against it, and if they want to try to buy passage somewhere, they can. Most don't want to, it's too risky, and the WorkForce girls," she shrugged again, in a 'what can you do' gesture. "There aren't that many planets they could go to and not be slaves again. If there were, I'd be willing to go there, if it existed."

------------------------

Diijon looked up from her seat in the bay to see the three approach. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yes, I did," Sandra replied, belatedly adding, "Mistress." as she knelt.

"Well, go on, ask her," the other slave prodded from where she knelt next to her master, and Diijon replied, "Ask me what?"

"My fault," the little old man said from his powered chair. "We were discussing economics and I mentioned how I kept my books. I split out my costs and income regarding my girl three ways, a third to her, a third to the ship, and a third for a reserve. That lets her buy her freedom when she wishes, and since she keeps my books..."

"There are no financial games..." Diijon mused. She set her book-viewer aside, asking "Would you be interested?"

"In at least taking a look? Certainly, mistress. I didn't know there were that many expenses, and I've never walked away from a debt."

"If you could do them, it would be one less headache for me," Diijon said.

"Well, that's settled, then, and we'll take our leave," the little old man said. "We're just down the road in 762 if you have a question, or want to stop by for a cup of tea." He tossed Sandra a coin, "Your wages for the day, and I thank you for your company."

"Don't forget the pads," his slave said, passing over three flat boxes. Sandra objected, "I was going to buy those."

"Yes, you were," he replied. "I decided to gift you instead, for your conversation." He raised his hand, "Pleasant night to you!"

"Would you like me to walk you back?" Sandra asked.

"It's only a few hundred meters, but I thank you," he replied, and with another wave, his chair floated out the gate.

Diijon looked after them, then passed Sandra the boxed pads and picked up the book-pad she had been reading. "Nice people," she ventured.

"Yes, they are," Sandra agreed, adding after a minute, "Mistress."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, November 27, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Second floor, Classroom six: 14:16 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

Anne checked her notes on the spell, and the translation. She had taken a GPS reading in the kitchen of her ancestral home on her last trip, marking a point one hand-span from the edge of the left hearth-stone. She had chosen that as a easy-to-define marker for her parents in the 14th century, and had measured the faint groove in the 21st.

She crossed herself, examining the envelope marked '27 November, 2001 #42 – Mother and Father' and cast the spell.

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, November 28, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Staffroom: 08:32 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Was there any other business?" Minerva asked.

"I have been considering," Professor Flitwick squeaked, "This summer taking my holiday across the Pond, in the States. I particularly would like to see Miss Wayne's Gotham..."

Dead silence greeted this, broken by Severus taking his notebook out and turning to a fresh page. "Duration and wager?" he asked the assembled staff.

Filius blinked, "Duration of what?" he asked.

"How long you'd live," Ginny replied. "Ten galleons, ten minutes," she said, adding, "No offense."

"I'll have you know I was a dueling champion!" he said, outraged.

"Harry and I were together, and neither one of us are dunderheads," Ginny replied calmly. "We would be dead right now if it weren't for Gotham's Bat."

"Who someone finally managed to kill," Harry added. "Three minutes, fifty galleons," he placed as Filius blinked.

------------------------  
_**Sunday, October 28, 1380: (Julian)  
London, The Strand, Bundy estate, kitchen: 03:23  
**_------------------------

With a flare of golden fire, the envelope appeared on the hearth, attracting the attention of a cat, who captured his prize, dragging it under the wooden table. It would not be found until much later.

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, November 28, 2001:  
Windfall, Port Lincoln: 09:43 (relative)  
**_------------------------

Chris brought the hooded slave before her master, with a small push on her shoulder, the girl knelt, knees wide, as Chris put her head to the floor. "The slave you requested, master."

"Thank you. Please leave us, my dear," he said, and the kneeling slave quivered in recognition. As the door closed quietly behind Chris, he said, "You recognize my voice." She whimpered once, forehead touching the floor, hands cuffed behind her. He contemplated her for a minute, then said, "You may raise your head, slave, but remain on your knees." As she did so, he told her, "Slave 94383, you are a registered slave, owned by this firm, Nos Scisco, on the planet Windfall. You are a full slave, is that understood?" She whimpered again, and he stood, unlocking her hood, saying, "You may speak freely, slave. Enable 94383."

"Thank you, master," she said tentatively. "Would master prefer a derivation of Edward?"

"Edward will be acceptable, for the duration of this conversation," he said. "For now, you may consider yourself temporarily freed. Once you go out that door, you will revert to full slavery, this is your one and only chance to speak your mind to me."

"Thank you," she said. "We need to talk, Edward. No holds barred, no questions out of bounds," she replied, tugging at her still-cuffed wrists as a hint.

"This is your chance to tell me why I should not hang you, like those corpses across the road. You are a slave, I do not need a reason to kill you," he said coldly.

She thought, eyes still regularly blinking every five seconds. "Edward, if you kill me now, you will need to explain to the Guard and to Miss Wayne why you did so. Why did you kill a fellow agent who was a naked, bound slave girl? Who was playing her role? Who posed no threat to you, a master?"

"What role?" he snarled.

"The slave girl, like yours is the evil slaver. I took an A-level in drama, after all." She took a deep breath, ringing her nipple bells, and asked, "Why do you want to kill me?"

"Because the last several months have been hell on me, and now I find out it was all an ACT? Do you wonder why I'm pissed?"

"It's an act because we're both agents of the Solar Guard," she replied. "Of course I'm playing a part, just like YOU are."

"However, I am NOT enjoying mine," he snapped.

"You're not?" she asked, stunned. "I thought you were doing a good job of method acting, like ..." She gazed at him, eyes wide, then said softly, "Oh, Edward, I am so sorry. I thought you were playing a part, this is the first chance we've had to talk..." She seemed to collapse inward, "Oh, Edward, I'm sorry... How can I make it up to you?"

"How do I know you're not acting now?"

"Because I'm not," she said softly. "Give me some of that truth drink they use here if you wish, but I'm not acting, I'm not lying to you now." She moaned to herself, then looked up, unshed tears in her eyes, "Edward, I owe you, what can I do to make it up to you?"

Somewhat mollified, he asked, "How far did you go?" and waved his hand, "In acting, I mean."

"I took several courses at Cambridge, but it doesn't pay that well, and I decided to concentrate on Electrical Engineering, with a minor in Maths," she replied. "Acting then became something of a hobby for me." She looked at him, "What about you? What did you study?"

"Mechanical engineering, but my licenses lapsed after I became the Riddler," he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked at her, "Why this? Why the... enthusiasm for your collar?"

"Part of that is playing the role," she admitted. "Wearing a collar and belt, there aren't many others for me, are there?" She smiled, "I'll make the best slave girl I can. Now that we're backstage, as it were, I was always drawn to the 'damsel in distress' parts. Being small and petite, I could carry them off, and I didn't mind being tied up, which is part of my submissive, masochistic side." She raised up a bit, "This belt, it's better than the one I paid £250 for in London." She sniffled a bit, then sneezed. "Sorry, this place needs to be cleaned." Looking up at him, "Those girls in the mine frightened me, all the way on that walk, I kept thinking, "'That could be me, that could be me...' Will they get a decent burial?"

"I have done so," he said, and she nodded. "That is what disturbs me the most about enhancement, the mind control," he said. "However, I am glad to see that something frightens you about your condition. A slave that is enjoying her collar draws even more attention than your hair."

"Unfortunately, I'm having a hard time working up a good sulk about my evil master, when I don't have one," she commented. "The closest I've come is indifference on Eridani, and I haven't really had a chance to talk to the other girls. I'm sure I'll have to come up with an 'evil master' story or two for the inevitable bitch sessions in the slave cell, but I don't have the material now." She looked at him, "It has to sound accurate, realistic, and I really can't make something up. Regarding my enhancement, in everyday life, the only thing that I can think it forces me to do is to say 'Yes, Master'," she admitted. "That's an irritant, but not a major one, it's to remind me I'm a slave, like the collar or the belt don't?" she said ironically. Raising up on her knees, she looked him in the eye from three feet away, "I want you to understand this, Edward. I understand that as my mission leader, you're responsible for me. However, I do not blame you for my collar. I don't know how much clearer I can make it, I sought it out, I got it, you are not to blame, nor is Miss Wayne."

"However, I had signed you out from Miss Wayne, I needed an uncollared female, you were the only option."

"I see," she said. "Did you intend for me to be collared?" she asked.

"No!" he shouted. "I was inattentive, puzzling out the console when he grabbed you and threw you in the machine..."

"All right," she agreed. "I will accept that, if, IF you accept that I stowed away looking for a collar." She regarded him steadily until he reluctantly nodded. "With what you knew, could you have stopped the machine before I got this bit of kit?"

"No," he admitted bitterly. "I considered shooting it, but I was occupied with Smelly at the time."

"So you had to occupy yourself with defending yourself from a large, aggressive alien before you could rescue me," she said softly. "Admittedly, my time sense was a bit knackered, I think it was about thirty seconds from when I was clamped in until it ejected me. Does that sound about right?" She cocked her head and looked at him as he nodded, "Also, if you had shot the control panel, it may have killed me, it may have locked me in permanently. Could you have repaired it or otherwise gotten it to release me?"

"No," he said.

"So then, objectively," she continued, "The proper thing to do was to wait for it to release me, and deal with the results. Since I don't think Smelly changed any settings, I think it logical that I would end up in a judicial collar. However," she said as he started to rise, "HOWEVER, even if it had reset to a default, it is still a machine designed to collar female slaves, I WOULD STILL WEAR A COLLAR." She rose to her knees, "Even if Smelly had defeated you, killed you, I would still wear a collar." She gazed at him, "No matter what, I would be wearing a collar, because you needed me, because you were trying to obtain a device that would remove them." He sank back into his seat as she said, "That is a noble effort, trying to help others. That is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, it is not your fault you were lied to by Smelly. I would have gone voluntarily, even if I knew that I would return wearing a collar. However, the upshot of this is that I wound up belonging to you, instead of to Smelly. You rescued me from his stench, if nothing else. Can we agree on that?"

"I do not wish to own anyone," he seethed. "It is repulsive to me. It..."

"Edward..." she attempted, then "Master!"

"I hate that term..." he complained.

"Edward, I am aware of your attitude toward slavery." She lifted her chin, staring up at his face until he sighed and sat back. She sat back on her heels, "The next bit of guilt you feel is toward Z'hann and my enhancement. Did you ask for us to be enhanced, and please don't go into the 'mind control' bit." She glared at him, "We are both well aware of it."

He gritted his teeth, "No, Miss Wayne described a way to tutor a slave involving a hood and some sort of teaching implement. It was allegedly used on the planet some six hundred years ago, how she knew about it I do not know." He exhaled sharply, "That is what I had in mind, not this..." and waved his hand.

"Presumably, methods have changed over six hundred years," she said softly. "We no longer make steel swords in blacksmith shops, do we? It therefore makes sense that methods of instructing slaves have moved with the times. Neither you or Miss Wayne were aware of it, how can you be responsible for something you are not aware of? Were you informed of enhancement when you dropped us off, when you contracted for our instruction?"

"No, I assumed that they used the same method," he said.

"So, an error of omission," she said. "Think logically, we've both been trained for it. Was the information offered? Did the sales being lie to you?" He shook his head, and she said, "So far, my tally has the collaring being a wash, with you rescuing me from a fate worse than death." He looked at her, and she smiled, "Being owned by Smelly. That's a big tick in your column, mate."

He snorted a laugh, "I can still smell him," he admitted.

"Pungent, wasn't he?" she agreed. "I think he's still in that lock, I'm not looking forward to cleaning it. Moving on to my tally, you were trying to help Z'hann and I, but you didn't know about enhancement, and I don't think Z'hann told you about it. I certainly didn't know." She settled back, wiggling a bit, "Perhaps she assumed you knew. She's certainly been... positive about it, hasn't she, master?" She used the term to forestall his rant. He gave her a look, and she settled back on her ankles, she added, "I want my roomie Liz to take a look at the software in my head, I'm certain she can make it more secure. She's an excellent programmer, I've got several suggestions for her." She looked at him, "So, for whatever reason, you didn't know about enhancement. I'm not going to keep score for Z'hann, that's between you two." He nodded. "Now, on the assumption that Liz can increase the security, the installation is water under the bridge. I'm going to take half of your Smelly tick. That still leaves you to the good, and no arguments."

"I still need to return you to Earth," he said.

"You will, but you're thinking in the original condition, aren't you?" He nodded, and she said flatly, "Impossible. Time has passed, life goes on. I don't want to go back to that silly twit I was, 'The Idiot' you called me." She rose on her knees again, "Edward, life goes on, we live and learn. I deserved that title. Now, I'm living life, I'm doing something productive, I'm not incredibly bored. I'm dancing on the razor's edge, Miss Wayne wrote me a letter offering me a position in the Guard, although I don't think Ms. Tanaka told her about my collar."

Eddie eyed her. "What position?"

"The one those twit twins were supposed to fill for you," she said. "Your support. Jane Bond, 94383."

He chuckled, eying her, "With your current outfit, shouldn't that be _im-_Modesty Blaise?"

Her eyes went wide as he chuckled. "I don't believe she worked for MI-6, but I am surprised you've heard of her," she said. She smiled briefly as she continued, "I took it, eyes wide open. As long as I belong to you or someone that I trust like Master Gix, I'm safe enough." She looked at him, "However, those meatball hacks that enhanced us didn't do a good job, both Z'hann and I ... itch when we use it, and we'd like it fixed. It's like a pebble, only this pebble is in our skulls, we can't get to it. Therefore, we need to go someplace that can fix it. That simple."

He reluctantly nodded, asking, "Why do you insist on kneeling?"

"Part of that's the role, it's not proper for a slave to stand, like a free girl," she replied. "Other than that, it's the belt. May I stand and approach, ma... Sorry, Edward?" She gracefully rose with his permissive nod, standing with her back to him. "I don't believe you've had a chance to look at a belt closely, please feel free," she said over her shoulder. "If I were designing it for security, I don't think there's much I would change. I'd angle the cuffs up about fifteen degrees, but that's more of a comfort thing for the slave, which isn't a concern." Her hands were confined at the junction between the wrist and the hand, she wiggled one as she said, "You'll notice that the belt gives me a good compression of my waist, my guess is an 18 or 20 inch waist, far narrower than my 34 hips." Eddie leaned forward, the slave was prevented from releasing her hands by the wide outer strike plate, he knew the springs that released the locking levers were stiff, preventing a slave girl from freeing her hands by leaning against a building, or having another slave release her, as he had difficulty himself squeezing her release levers. He said, "There's a small ring on the outer plate, it wasn't on Z'hann's."

"Different manufacturer, I think," she replied. "With that and a small padlock, you could secure me to a link fence. From what I can feel and see of other girls' it's a clever design, it's easy for a girl to be secured, but far more difficult to release her. I have to squeeze with both hands to release another girl's hand. May I turn about?"

He sat back, "Please do, but would you like something?"

"Water with a straw would be lovely, thank you," she said, turning and sitting on the edge of a chair as he walked to the water tap. He set it down in front of her, she drank thirstily. "Ah, thank you, Edward. That type of gag is comfortable enough, but it dries out the mouth." Using her teeth, she moved the glass over a bit, leaving a condensation trail on the desk. "To finish answering your question, have you noticed Z'hann sits on the edge of a chair?"

"Yes, I thought it was a cultural or personal idiosyncrasy," he replied.

"Possibly," she granted. "Personally, I think it's her slave belt. You'll remember that the _Query_ doesn't have anything on board to cut a slave belt? There's no reason to have it, nothing is made of that alloy but slave belts and other kit."

He sat back, thinking, running through the inventory. "I am not sure you are correct," he said.

"I think I am, and once again, it makes sense to me. If you have slave kit like shackles made of a particular metal, but don't have any way to cut it on board a ship, any slave trying to cut her chains off in the engine room will fail. After all, a ship's engine room has slaves, but also metalworking equipment so they can make repairs. It's more likely they will make picks to release their chains, but you could block that by not carrying bar stock in that size."

"There is no reason you couldn't plane down something to fit," he objected.

"Certainly not," she agreed. "You're a mechanical engineer, you can think of other ways to block picks, but we're getting off topic." She shook her hair back, "May I turn about?"

He slid his chair back, then motioned. She turned, standing with her right knee resting on the desktop, giving a little hop to move her left foot away. "Hidden behind the front plate, the pee-tube runs down between my labia and to a small valve just forward of my arse-plug. As it's at the end of that plate, if you push on it a bit, it will move a tiny bit." He hesitated, "Please don't be shy, I certainly don't mind, and like I said, this is a superior design for a chastity."

He leaned forward, her white hair visible against the black metal confirming she was a natural blonde as she continued, "Notice the edges of that valve are sharp. If I, or Z'hann, or any other belted girl, tries to sit then the valve will tear the seat cushion. In addition, when you sit, it pushes up, and that area is rather tender. Therefore, free girls like Z'hann stand or sit on the edge of a chair, and slave girls kneel, it's more comfortable."

"Stay there a minute, please," he said, examining the belt and running his fingers along it. 94383 was happy to comply, giving master Eddie a puzzle to figure was certain to calm him down. He sat back, looking up and asking, "What about your period?"

"That would be a problem," she agreed. "However, I haven't had one since I left Earth, and I'm certainly not pregnant."

"Now this I don't understand," he said, sitting back.

"Neither do I," she confessed. "All I can do is report the facts. I can feel myself ovulate, and then, nothing."

"Could the belt be blocking the outflow?"

"Possibly," she admitted. "However, I don't feel the usual symptoms of a period, I certainly can't get a tampon or pad in place, I don't think the belt's water-tight. I think I would notice something..." Hesitating, she admitted, "I have a theory, but no way to prove it."

"Interesting..." he mused. "What is your theory?"

"Something in Earth's magnetic field triggers menses in certain species," she admitted. "As far as I know, the apes and man are the only ones that suffer it, once one moves past it for a certain time, it's no longer triggered." She shrugged, "Otherwise, there really is a monolith in Tycho crater, pointing at Earth."

He snorted in amusement as her bells tinkled with her shrug, asking, "What about your nipple rings?"

"They hurt initially, but at the time I was under Happy Slave, so I didn't mind," she replied. "For now, the chains pull up, but it's no worse than wearing an underwire bra."

"How does that hurt?" he asked.

"The edges, the underwires themselves dig in all day," she replied. "As they're plastic, you can't bend them. In addition, you don't really know how well a bra's going to fit until you've worn it a while, so women accumulate drawers full of bras they can't wear and can't return." She shook her head back, "As far as physical comfort, I'm really not bad. No period, which in itself is a great benefit, the various bits locked on aren't uncomfortable, and as long as I have a good master like you or Gix, I don't mind."

"How do you know I won't sell you off," he snapped.

"I don't, but I don't think you will," she replied.

He grunted, then leaned back, "Now the big question, why don't you want me to free you?" She shifted uncomfortably, and he reminded her, "Honesty, remember?"

She grimaced and nodded, "A couple of semi-good reasons, I've asked myself the same question," she answered. "I can say that it's part of the role I play as girl-spy, or that I committed a crime and have to pay the penalty, but you and I know that All-Father gave you a court order you could use. Here, the court convicted me of burglary, even though I could have argued that since I was doing it at your orders, in the presence of Z'hann, I shouldn't be charged. I could have said that, but I didn't." She sighed and looked up, "The real reason is that I'm giving in to my submissive, masochistic side, indulging my fetish for bondage, like a smoker that can't give up the fags."

"An addiction, in other words."

"Exactly, like your obsession for leaving clues to your crimes," she said. He started up, and she said, "If we are trying to be objective, your obsession makes no more sense than mine does. I know that you're waiting for me to ask for my freedom. Unless there is a way to break my addiction, even if you were to grant freedom by fiat, I think I would seek out re-enslavement, which would be even more dangerous and self-destructive." She shook her hair back, and moved back to kneeling, "Once again, being objective, if I'm to be a slave, a Windfall enslavement is the best option for me. I have some rights. I think that if I ship out with Master Gix as part of his crew, this will do two things. Even though I'm collared, it will force me to stand and make decisions, to act free, my subconscious will see the benefits. I will also gain experience that can be used toward my Spacer's Guild ratings."

"Valid points," he admitted. "However, I have promised myself that I will deliver you safely back to Earth, I do not break my word. If I have you within sight, I do not risk that."

"Ah, I did not know that," she admitted. She thought for a minute, then said, "May I make a suggestion?"

"Please do, my dear."

"Master Eddie," and she used the term deliberately, "I think I need to see the more brutal side of slavery to break my addiction, else why would you own me? You were trying to break me, I'm trying to help you do that, but I can't if you're going to wrap me in wool. My suggestion answers your objections, and quite honestly helps your peace of mind."

"How does your witnessing someone else's suffering do that?" he shot back. "Rather callous of you. In addition, you would be away from my sight, you would not be safe." She blinked, as he continued, "The only way you can be broken is by mistreatment, by being treated as a slave? That's rather stupid, now you're the one who's not being logical. I tried that, it didn't seem to bother you."

He leaned forward to continue, and she shot back, "It's like leaving clues to crimes!"

He said icily, "Miss Wayne is the closest thing I have to a daughter. If Batman was still alive, I wouldn't be here. Do not bring that subject up again." He was silent, then he said, "I have given her my word I will return you and the twins. Once I have delivered you, you may do as you wish, I could care less. Until then, you three will remain safely in my sight."

"Then you'll chain us on the bloody beach while you sit under a tree and sip margaritas," she hissed, "Why not cage us, keep the only key and weld the doors shut! That doesn't help any of us, but it keeps us safely in your bloody sight!"

"If necessary," he replied. "You wanted to be slave, you will be treated as slave," he replied. "Your ideas have merit, and make sense. However, you are a slave, 94383, and you will be kept as a slave until the moment I sell you. You and every other enhanced slave I own will not step foot on a starship. You will stay my slave, my full slave on this island until I take you off."

He stood, "This discussion is ended, slave. Restrict, disable 94383." With a jolt, she snapped to position, crouching, breasts thrust forward, chin up. He stood, moving behind her to replace her hood. As he pulled her gag into place, buckling it tightly, he told her, "Slave, you will be disciplined for presumption, you have forgotten your collar and need to be reminded of it." He viciously jerked her hood tight, snapping the lock. "Computer, slave 94383, pain five." He watched as she stiffened, finally falling to her side. "End pain, release," he said, reaching down to grab her leash chain, hauling her to her feet.

------------------------

After instructing Christine how he wanted the errant slave 94383 punished, Edward stopped next to two kneeling forms, hooded heads pressed against the corridor's concrete. Gently kicking each, he told them, "Stand up, you two."

------------------------

The two girls knelt, heads down as Edward contemplated them, finally saying, "You are full slaves, registered to and owned by this firm, Nos Scisco, on the planet Windfall. Is that understood?" Both slaves whimpered, and he said, "You may raise your heads, but remain on your knees." As they did so, he stood, unlocking their hoods, saying, "You may speak freely, slaves."

Resuming his seat, he addressed them, "The only reason you two continue to breathe is that I have given my word to return you alive to Earth. You have consistently lied and disobeyed my orders, the reason you are now digging ditches is that you have proved yourselves unsuited for any other job. I consider myself a fair man, however were it not for my word, you would have been sold off or killed months ago. The only small point in your favor is that you seem to look out for each other. This is your one and only chance to explain yourselves." He pointed at A'nore, "45301, explain yourself."

"As I can speak freely, master, why should I co-operate or obey someone who is intent on holding me as a slave?" she said contemptuously.

"For the simple reason that you agreed to when you volunteered for this mission," her sister said. Turning to Eddie, she said, "Master, I apologize for my rather headstrong sister (who snorted and tossed her head)." She shrugged, "She's the eldest, I hoped to be able to ... restrain her, which is why I agreed to come when she signed us up."

"Being an only child, I cannot relate from personal experience," Eddie said. "However, you seem to have more common sense than your sister. Why do you allow her to get you in trouble? You would still have your ovaries, you would not be enhanced if you had simply obeyed orders to stay in the room."

"I want these collars OFF our necks, master!" A'nore snapped.

B'tan replied, furious, "Master did not put them on, you know that. We have argued about this, why are you blaming him for something he did not do? Why are you blaming him for the pirates that took us, that killed father? I share your hatred of them, why are you attaching it to Master?" She shifted on her knees, "A'nore, you're my sister, I love you, but you have to get over this unreasoning hatred. Master has been the best owner we've had, and he's right, we wouldn't be enhanced, we wouldn't be wearing judicial collars if you hadn't decided to look about the asteroid base. I warned you at the time, but you didn't listen to me, you never do, and now we'll NEVER get them off."

"Why did you lie, then?" Eddie asked.

Shrugging, B'tan replied, "I apologize, Master, but I had to support my sister."

Grunting, Eddie regarded her, "She has given you a lot of unnecessary pain."

"Yes, Master, but she is my sister, I love and support her, even if I don't agree with her. I am frankly amazed that we are still together."

"You're more valuable that way," Eddie replied absently. "Once I have returned you to Earth, what are your plans?"

"Getting our collars off, master," A'nore snapped, and B'tan sighed, "That won't happen. Personally, Master, I thought your world was rather cold. I like this world, even if I have to be slave." She shot a glare at her sister, "I'm warm, and this is an easy world to wear a collar, Master."

Scrubbing his face, Eddie sighed. "You are both, what, fourteen or so? You should be in school, and looking at the boys in class, not worrying about a collar."

"Fifteen standards, Master, our parents are dead, and while we can read, write and do simple mathematics, our formal schooling ended several years ago, when we were collared." B'tan sighed again, "That was such a pleasant, simpler time, but we are slaves, and must please you, Master."

A'nore looked at Eddie, "Master, why did you not leave us as Happy Slaves?"

"Would you like to return to that?" Eddie asked, startled. "I find mind control offensive, but if you wish, I will re-enable the software. Quite a few other slaves suggested I leave you in it."

"I would rather not, thank you, Master," B'tan said with a small smile, and Eddie chuckled. "Aside from your collars, do you have any complaints?"

"Not really, Master," B'tan said after a few minutes thought. "As I said, this is an easy collar, and you're a good Master. While the work is simple, we have adequate rest and water. How long is the trip, and when do we leave?"

"If we catch a convoy going in the correct direction, about six or seven days," Eddie said. "I am interviewing the enhanced slaves, if you put forth an honest effort until then, I will not leave you locked in the slave cell aboard ship."

"I agree, Master," B'tan said, and her sister grumbled. Eddie stood, and said, "Come with me."

------------------------

"What punishment do you wish for these slaves, Master?" Chris asked, as the two followed him past her desk.

"None," he replied, placing the hoods they had worn on her desk. "No punishment," he repeated to the surprised first girl. "Have these sterilized and returned to stock, I have another task for them," and he waved for them to follow.

Outside, thunder boomed and the rain poured down upon the naked slave lashed to a post. Eddie stopped under a sheltering roof, gesturing to the soaking-wet 94383 as the water poured off the roof onto her white hood and shoulders. "She is to be fed once a day, and her waste suctioned as well," he told the twins. "You are not to remove her from the post, or release her arms," he gestured at the slave's wrists, lashed to the ends of a strong crossbeam. "There is portable equipment and a power point to enable you to perform this task. Her survival depends on you performing your task. If you need something, request it from Christine. For now, I suggest you both run through a sonic shower, you still have mud on your legs. Inform her that I will be down at the docks, conferring with Gix."

------------------------

"May I come aboard?" Eddie asked from the inner hatch of the lock. 21209, formerly known as T'ara, looked up and waved, "Come out of the rain, Master," she called.

"You seem a lot more cheerful," he said. "You don't have to call me 'master'," he added as Gix came out of the engine room of the _Ngthsestr_.

"I appreciate that, but I think I'd best relearn the habit," T'ara said, tugging lightly at her judicial collar. "I always wondered what would happen when my deception came undone. I came out better than I expected," she added, rising to re-open the inner hatch, explaining "We're keeping it open for fresh air, and I'm back aboard ship, at least for a little while." Moving to the replicator, she asked, "Anything to drink, master?"

"Hot tea, if you would be so kind," he said, accepting the tea. With a sigh of pleasure, he said, "T'ara, I'm assigning you to Gix. The locals want to get their ship up to scratch, which they are paying for, so when you go hide the WorkForce ship, stop by the pirate ship Frax blew apart and see if there's anything you can salvage there. You might also check to see if there was a base they were using in an asteroid." He took another sip, telling them, "That's the cover you two are using. The locals took ten years to get her spaceworthy, and barely made it back. The real reason is that when I leave with the _Query_, I want to keep a starship here in case the Council of Elders gets frisky again. That's why I'm giving Gix my proxy vote, he's big, and most importantly, male."

"I can intimidate them," Gix rumbled. "We might need parts," he added.

"Get the local's ship spaceworthy enough to cover the system," Eddie suggested. "If necessary you can then send T'ara and some of the other girls off to strip parts from the pirate or any base you find. Make up a list of what parts you need, I'll either send the _Query_ back with them, or another ship." He finished the tea, "I'll get a relief ship to you as quickly as possible. Don't hesitate to blow a hole in an uninhabited island, or vaporize a few hundred cubic meters of ocean if you need to." He stopped to deposit his teacup in the replicator for recycling, then dashed out in the rain again.

------------------------

"... down at the docks, conferring with Gix," 94383 heard through the splash of rainwater on her tight leather hood. She stood motionless but for her breathing as rain came off the roof in sheets, pouring on her head and shoulders, on the sign hanging from her nipple rings that proclaimed her offenses: that of forgetting her enslavement, and of presumption. She could feel the heavy gag in her mouth, pulled and buckled tightly, she could feel the tight compression of the internal blindfold over her eyes, the wrapping of the leather and the lock that secured the hood on her head.

She could hear the small scratching sound her leash made as the wind moved it on her neck, she could feel the slight compression in her breasts as they pushed against the rod holding the sign in place, she could feel the shackles on her ankles, holding her legs apart as she stood on a small cross-beam, she could feel the slight compression of her collar on her throat, the tug of her breast chains and where the iron neck-ring tilted up in back against the back of her neck. She could feel the band of her slave belt, tightly banding her waist, dipping down between her arse-cheeks, the 'waist' of her arse-plug holding her sphincter open, the tiny pee-valve, the little tube as it nestled between her labia. Her 'tail', screwed into the arse-plug, was wet and lashed against her calves, driven by the wind.

'_Come on, move_!' she implored her fingers, but they refused to budge. She sighed to herself, her arms stretched out, bound by leather cuffs that were lashed to the bamboo beam, which was in turn bolted onto the upright. She moaned in her mind, as Master Eddie had disabled both her voice and her vision, the hood she wore was thus rather superfluous, but she was learning that didn't matter.

'_Where would you go, you silly twit_?' she asked herself. She still felt the residual pain from her collar, even as she chastised herself. '_You can't move, you're bound here, just like the criminals Master Eddie executed. They were free, though, you're an enhanced slave girl, you're going to wait right here for his pleasure_.' She tried to move her tongue in her mouth, but failed in that. '_How long, though? He said he was going to return me to Earth, but WHEN_?' She tried to move her body, and failed again. '_It was... July? August? I don't recall when we left Earth, when I stowed away, when I went in search of a collar_.' She snorted to herself again, then felt a moment of panic, '_I don't know how long his mission is! I've joked about a red dress, but what if he really is on a five year mission_?' She fought down the panic in her mind, '_Calm down, luv, you can't do anything about it now..._' and a little voice in her mind said, '_You can't do anything about it unless he lets you! You're a SLAVE, you're a bloody enhanced slave, you're dumb and blind, you can't even wiggle your toes unless HE gives you permission! How is this fun, you stupid twit_?'

------------------------

Chris looked out the window at the motionless slave she had secured. '_Forgot her collar, did she_?' she mused. '_Master Eddie didn't specify the details of her punishment, or the duration_,' she mused, then fished a key out of her desk and went to fetch some equipment.

------------------------

"May I join you?" Chris asked the twins as they sat in the common room, all three nursing a hot cup of tea. "I'd like to go over Master Eddie's orders regarding 94383, the blonde out in the rain."

"Yes, mistress?" B'tan said politely. As first girl, she deserved the honorific, and she had been a good boss, doing what she could for the slaves. She watched the older girl bunch her cloth mask over her nose as she drank.

Thunder boomed outside, A'nore flinching and commenting, "I wouldn't want to be tied outside in weather like this." She pushed her cloth mask up like Chris had done.

"I think you know that our wet slave out there seems to be enjoying her collar, and Master Eddie is trying to break her," Chris said. "I personally agree with him, and I thought we could play with her mind a bit. If I'm wrong, I'll take the heat with him, you can say I ordered you to do this." The twins nodded as she continued, "She's hooded, so she can't see the sun move, and she's locked down. The only way she can tell time is to count her breaths, and I don't think she will, so what we do is play with her time sense. Master wants her fed once a day, and suctioned at the same time." She held up a syringe of a thick paste, "I don't think there are any night insects or animals, so you're going to give her one of these a day, and suction her at the same time, only her days are fifteen hours instead of the planet's thirty – sunup to sundown. Furthermore, I want you to vary the times, feed her once, then again a couple hours later, then ignore her for eighteen or twenty hours." She took a sip of tea, "The idea is to break her, not torture her. Understood?" The twins nodded, Chris stood, refilling her tea-mug and returned to her desk.

------------------------

Chris stood on the gravel path and looked at the motionless slave in the starlight. "I hate you. I'm jealous," she finally said. "You get to go home, and why? You're a slave like I am, what's more, you're enjoying your collar. It's not right, it's not fair. You should stay, I should go."

"You're right," a man said, and Eddie emerged from the shadows. "It's not fair. Unfortunately, I need you here, Christine."

"Master..." she started to say, but he held up a hand. "Come with me, Christine, we'll let 94383 enjoy herself. I want to let you know what's been happening on Earth, and if you want to write a letter home, I'll deliver it."

"You'd do that, master?"

"The least I can do is put it in your parent's hands, and for now, it's Edward. Come, my dear..."

94383 heard the crunch of gravel as they walked away.

------------------------

"Master, I must confess something," Christine said as she knelt in Eddie's quarters. "I modified your orders regarding that blonde twit. I instructed the twins to service her more frequently, the day is thirty hours long."

"You're right," he said after a moment's thought. "For some reason, I was thinking eight hours long." He shook his head, "Good catch. Please inform the twins to service her once every ten hours, and to make it appear that every one is 'breakfast' (he finger-quoted)."

"Ah, the morning, mumbling, yawning bit," she said. "Understood, master."

"Good. However, you should have come to me with the error instead of taking it on yourself to correct. Therefore, as your punishment, you'll spend tomorrow in a gag. Was there any other business?" he asked, motioning her to stand.

"No, master," she said, eying the scarf he had in his hands.

"Excellent," he replied, gently wrapping the scarf over her collar. "I hereby grant you temporary freedom, I wish I could do so permanently, and my name is Edward, or derivations thereof."

"Why can't you free me?" Christine asked.

Eddie made a gesture toward the dormitories, "The girls think that 'freedom' (he finger-quoted) is simply not calling someone 'master'. They don't realize, or they have forgotten, that it means thinking and providing for themselves. They aren't ready to do that. You can help coax them along that path, while keeping the various projects going. You are the only one I trust to help them survive."

"I could do so if I were free," Christine argued.

"You could," he agreed. "That was the most difficult part of this decision. However, if I freed you, it would immediately open a vast social chasm between you, you would not get good information." He sighed, "It would be the difference, I think, between shop workers having lunch with the foreman and lunch with the CEO." He sat on the bed, leaning down to pull off a boot, "You've noticed on our beach days that none of the girls approach me, yet you, despite being first girl, are still 'one of the girls'." He pulled off the other boot, "I will leave instructions for my relief, you..."

"Your relief? That sounds very permanent," she said.

"Yes," he said, sitting on the bed in his sock feet. "My relief. This situation has been an enormous strain on me, there have been several times when I have been close to murder. I have kept my sanity, such as it is, by venting on Frax and abusing her. When we have returned, I will owe her an enormous apology." He looked across the small room, "This is why you are staying here, my dear. Leaving you here, the girls will survive. You may issue such orders as you see fit in my name, I only ask you keep counsel with Gix and T'ara, who will be keeping an eye on the Elders. He will be your nominal master. I have appraised them of this, and received word of their silence."

Chris looked at him for a long moment, then stood, crossing the room and sat next to him. Quietly, she pulled him into a hug.

------------------------


	12. Weeks 14 18, 1–31 December, 2001

------------------------

A/N: Sly and Raven are original characters in Chris Dee's Cat-Tales, used with permission.

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
12 – Weeks 14 - 18, 1–31 December, 2001  
------------------------_**  
Saturday, December 1, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Faculty Housing, Potter flat: 08:05 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"I think Molly is getting attached to an older man," Professor Harry jibed softly as his daughter sprawled, asleep in Arthur's lap with her head on his thigh. "What are your intentions with my daughter, Mr. Morton?"

"This conversation is eerily familiar," he replied, equally softly so as not to wake the toddler. He motioned to the kitchen of the flat, where the girls had congregated, ostensibly to learn 'housekeeping' spells from Ginny and her mother, who was visiting. "For now, if someone could levitate her, she's sleeping on my wand and my foot's fallen asleep."

"Allow me," Gred replied, flicking his wand. As the three-year old floated through the air, her father conjured a blanket on top of a cushioning charm. They heard Tonks say, "No, _really_?" from the kitchen, followed by a burst of giggling.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Remus said from the table, where he was grading History essays with his laptop. "As the happily married bloke here, aren't you supposed to be instructing we bachelors with useful spells and such?"

"That's covered in one word," Forge said. His brother added, "'_Reparo_' covers a multiple of sins, mate. I don't know why we're supposed to be here."

"Molly said you should, or risk her displeasure," Harry said, standing to fetch another cup of tea. Arthur, who was walking in circles, shaking his foot to restore circulation, motioned to him, "Professor, I had a favor to ask." Harry cast a privacy spell, Gred and Forge looking at each other, Remus saying, "Uh, oh," at their expression.

"Not us, mate," Gred said, an innocent expression on his face. He turned to Remus, "Could you use a few extra Galleons this summer? We could use some help at the shop."

"It would be an honour to have a Marauder working with us," Forge added. Harry's privacy spell dropped, and he turned to the kitchen, only to have Ginny come from the suddenly silent kitchen, "Oh, Harry, let me get you another cuppa. Anyone else?"

------------------------

"So, you were saying to let them have one room of their own," Angelina said when Ginny had returned.

"Yes, they won't really care about the rest of the house, as long as it's tidy," Molly replied. "My Arthur has his shed where he putters with his muggle kit." She folded a dish towel, "Every king must have a castle, you see, one where you don't intrude, no matter the temptation."

"Harry has his office at school, and the library here," Ginny added. "Make sure the décor of the rest of the house is muted, not outrageous colour schemes. Quiet and tasteful, otherwise he'll be unsettled." She stirred her tea, "One other point about our blokes, they feel they _must_ provide for their family. Otherwise they're not doing their duty, you see."

"Remus is happy with his Hogwarts faculty flat," Tonks put in. "I've still got my flat in London, but I wouldn't mind a little cottage..."

"If you're interested, we have a few places," Mattie said. "Rent or buy, I'll give you a good rate... So that means we'll need to live off Arthur's income."

"Yes, that's a problem that you'll need to resolve," Ginny said. "Otherwise, he won't feel he's..." she paused for a minute, then added, "He won't feel he's doing his duty otherwise, a subconscious thing."

"Hmm... I'll have to think on that," Mattie said as she moved to the sink again, "Mrs. Weasley, what was that pot-scrubbing spell again?"

Alicia Spinnet jerked awake, asked, "Wayne, why do you ask, you use house elves to cook and clean, and that Huffie boyfriend of yours probably has forgotten more cleaning spells than you'll ever learn."

Ginny and Tonks quietly edged back, as Mattie slowly turned. Holding the dish sponge, she smiled slightly, although the smile never reached her eyes. "There's no such thing as useless knowledge," she said softly, turning the sponge in her hand. "I may be in a situation where there are no house elves available. There are lots of interesting material in the Slytherin library, going back hundreds and hundreds of years. Long before the Ministry..."

"Too right, mate," Tonks said cheerfully. "I'll help you with them, next day off."

"It's really a simple spell," Molly said into the awkward silence. Like throwing a switch, a sparkle came back into Mattie's eyes, and she said, "I appreciate it, Mrs. Weasley."

"Molly, dear."

------------------------

"Alicia, Angelina, wait up!" Tonks called to the two younger girls. Wrapping her coat around her, she navigated Hogwarts trick stairs, waiting with the others as a staircase moved away. Fred and George were talking to Harry as she asked, "What do you know about Wayne?"

"She's rich and a Yank," Alicia said, Angelina adding, "Bloody good Seeker, and a Slythie."

"All true," Tonks said. "She's a Slythie, like I am." She cocked her head, then snorted, "Bloody Gryffs, do I have to hit you with a Beater's Bat?" She regarded the two puzzled looks, "You insulted her boyfriend, her family. Hogwarts has an unofficial motto now, '_Don't fuck with Wayne_.' She gave you a very pointed warning with that kitchen sponge."

"It's a bloody sponge," Alicia said. "What could she do with it?"

"I suggest you talk to Ginny about her trip to Gotham with Harry," Tonks said. "That's before you look her up in the Financial Times list, then ask yourself if you really want to insult someone like that." A staircase ground into position, and Tonks added as she stepped on it, "Or ask anyone who was at last year's Leaving Feast."

------------------------

"Mattie, dear," Molly said when the others had left. "Stay and have another cuppa, would you?"

Ginny had left, it was just the two of them. "Certainly, Mrs. Wea... Molly. Can I?"

"Oh, thank you, dear," Molly replied, watching the younger witch out of the corner of her eye. '_Good breeding, she was raised properly_,' Molly evaluated. '_Give her a few years to get over the social awkwardness of being a hostess, she'll have them eating out of her hand in every world capital_.' She watched with approval as the girl... no, young woman gracefully sat, passing over the tea things. '_She knows she's being evaluated_,' Molly added. '_Ah, for want of a finishing school, not that she needs much_,' she thought, while asking, "How are things with you and Arthur?"

"Still somewhat awkward," was the frank reply, '_Surprising in a Slytherin_' was Molly's mental note. "I don't think he thinks I'll ever get some of these spells Professor Flitwick is trying to pound into my thick skull," she added with a grin. '_Ah, misdirection, I was wondering. Still, a bit of a clumsy attempt, I can see the fatigue in her face_.' "And how is your catering business going? I've tried to pass a bit of business your way, when I have the opportunity. Have you considered going muggle?"

"Actually, I have, I..." Molly wagged her finger, "Naughty, naughty..."

"We do cater our press conferences, would you be interested in bidding?" There was a sparkle in Mattie's eye as she added, "Leftovers, by contract, go to feed the homeless and hungry through one of the shelters or churches."

"I don't have a problem with that, dear, I think it's a wonderful idea. However, I wanted to talk about you. Thinking back, what Alicia said was very much true. I didn't see it as an insult to your Arthur."

Mattie sighed, "I know, it's just that I have a habit of overreacting when one of my family is threatened. It's a character flaw, I know. I just have this urge to... well, when I finish destroying a threat, I want to grind it into fine powder and mail it to Mongolia." She shrugged, "What do I do? I've been so tempted to simply challenge Luthor to a duel and have it out, it's been frustrating."

"Are you certain you're a Slytherin, dear? That sounded very Gryffindor to me."

Mattie looked around, then cast a privacy spell, "Can you keep a secret? Alastair was really indecisive when it came to Sorting me, between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"Your Gryffindor tendencies are safe with me," Molly said with a chuckle as Mattie dropped the spell. "As far as character flaws, you could have worse ones, wanting to protect your family is nothing to be ashamed of. You simply need to refine your targeting, so to speak. Ask yourself, 'What would Arthur do?' and it should give you a moment to collect yourself, to lower the fire on your potion." She shifted, "As far as Alicia, she'll tell George. Just take her call, dear, and go out for a cuppa to mend fences."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, December 2, 2001:  
London, British Library, Reference section: 10:05 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Oh, bloody _hell_," Alicia muttered to herself, "Why did I ignore the news? To concentrate on practice with the Harpies, and now I've pissed off a bloody billionaire." She started to bang her head on the microfiche reader, "Stupid, bloody stupid, Alicia."

"Here now, you'll hurt yourself," a young man said. "It can't be all that bad."

"Eh, what do you know about her?" she asked him, gesturing at the reader.

Leaning forward, he took a look, asking, "Wayne? She's on the Financial Times list of richest Brits, even though she's a Yank. She's nicknamed the 'Queen of Space', and if you look at the moon, you'll see a red light she put there. She's financing the colonizing of space out of her pocket money, and she's got some sort of ongoing feud with the Yank President." He looked at her, "She's been in the news the last few months, she owns a fleet of starships, and where have you been, you haven't heard of her?"

"Traveling."

"Where, Mars?" He shook his head, "Please don't damage the equipment, miss."

------------------------

"George?" Alicia asked when she entered the Wheeze. Ron jerked a thumb toward the back room, and continued with his customer.

"George?" Alicia asked, and her fiancé waved from where he sat in front of the computer, entering the previous day's orders. He looked up and smiled at her, then took her in his arms for a quick hug. She smiled wanly at him, "George, how well do you know Miss Wayne?"

"Our largest single investor, last I heard her wizarding holdings were about 130 million galleons, top of the list for wealthiest European wizards, Narcissa is second, she's only a few million. She's licensed a ton of kit to us, and submitted a few pranks to us. She's a good'un, even if she's a Slythie, Ron's the only one who holds that against her, but you know Ron. She's made us a good bit of gold, licensing our concession stand at Hogwarts' quidditch pitch. Why do you ask?"

Alicia winced, then whispered, "I... I may have accidentally insulted her boyfriend..."

A look of pain crossed George's face, "She won't do anything to us, but in her first year, she very thoroughly kicked Lucius Malfoy's pureblood arse." He reached in his pocket and pulled out his mobile, speed-dialing it and holding it out to his fiancée. "I've got her number, talk to her."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, December 4, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Second floor, Classroom six: 13:57 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

'_I wonder why they hath not replied to last week's missive_,' Anne wondered. '_I know that this one doth go through, as I hath received it back, and 'tis the same spell_.' She examined the picture postcard:

_4 December, 2001 #43_

_Hogwarts classroom 6, 2d floor_

_Dearest Mother and Father, _

_If you receive this, please forward it to me with the exact time and location you received it through the Headmistress, like you hath with thine other letters. I love you and miss you all!_

_My love to all,_

_Anne_

Looking again at her parent's reply letter, she read,

_7 October, 1380 _

_My beloved daughter, _

_I was simply beside myself to receive your missive, brief as it was. As you can tell, it hath some slight damage, I know not if it be spell-damage or from the fire's embers. Please, safeguard yourself and thine boon companions, tell us naught of the future, though we wish to know! _

_I saw your note a hand-length from the line of the hearth, and a thumb's width over the line you and your father cut in the stone. I pray that is enough of a measurement for you, I have no idea how thee and thine companions can measure through all of God's creation. _

_In the news, we know naught what we shall do with... _

------------------------  
_**Tues**__**day, December 4, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead offices, third floor: 14:20 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"Ms. Sterling?"

Liz looked up, suppressing a moment of panic at the sight of Miss Wayne, dressed in her normal skirted suit, who added, "Please, take a walk with me." She smiled, "No, you're not in any trouble, I've been very pleased with you, but there's a private matter I need to discuss with you." Her eyes widened, but she saved her code, and stood, straightening her skirt.

Miss Wayne ushered her into the small meeting room down the hall, where Karen Bundy was already sitting. Rather nervously, Liz took a seat, Miss Wayne smoothing her skirt as she sat next to her, facing her. She smiled, "For the moment, Ms. Sterling, my name is Mattie, not Miss Wayne, and I am not your boss. The only reason we don't go down to the tea shop is the snowstorm outside." Liz involuntarily glanced at the window, with the blizzard coming down. Miss Wayne cleared her throat, asking, "May I call you Liz, or do you prefer Elizabeth?"

"Liz, please, Miss..." her boss held up a finger, "Um, Mattie. May I ask what's going on?" She began to relax a bit, Miss Wayne had a reputation as a fairly easygoing boss.

"Simply put, I received a privy letter from Ash's will, way back in September. She asked about you by name, asked me for a favor, and after making a call or two, I was able to provide a solution to your problem."

"Solution to my problem?" Liz asked, somewhat gobsmacked. Miss Wayne nodded, pulling a letter from a file folder and passing it over for Liz to read.

When Liz looked up, Miss Bundy said, "You're on paid leave for a week as of this morning, doing a little project. That's why you were asked to pack a week's worth of casual clothes, we've taken care of everything. I expect to see you next Tuesday afternoon with a bright smile, Liz. Does your mobile have a full charge?" Liz nodded dumbly as two business cards were slid across the table, Miss Wayne answering the unasked question, "Our personal, private numbers."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she protested.

"It's very simple," Karen said with a huge grin. "Have you ever heard of magic?"

------------------------

"Ever wonder how I manage to sneak in the building and avoid the newsies camped out front?" Mattie said as the three of them left the lift. They waved at the security fellow, who raised his mug of tea to them, Liz pulling her case along. They walked down a short corridor, then Karen looked about, drawing a short...

"What..." Liz asked.

"This, my friend, is a wand," Karen replied with a grin. "I'm going to levitate your case, as we're going down stairs." With a swish and flick of her wand, Liz heard what she thought was '_Wingardium Leviosa_', the case floated in midair at about waist height as they descended, Karen asking, "You have met Clarisse, one of our ghosts, haven't you?"

------------------------

"I'd really like to know what's going on," Liz said as she saw a finished stone doorway appear in the basement wall.

"Fair enough," Karen said, conjuring a chair for Liz. Miss Wayne muttered 'Showoff', as she continued, "Miss Nicheyev was your roommate, she was aware of your needing to save for your surgery when the NHS declined to pay for it. She couldn't help financially, but Miss Wayne could, which is why she wrote the letter."

"SRS and that type of thing doesn't bother me," Miss Wayne said. "My criterion is competence, which you more than adequately fill. As you remember, my only comment regarding the late Ms. Nicheyev and her normal mode of dress was to require business wear if she had to meet the public, which she did."

"She hated skirts and dresses," Liz remembered fondly. "Unless it was tight, with a built-in corset. When she went to that job show, the suit she wore she borrowed from me." She shook herself, "Sorry. Please continue."

"Now, I could have, and will offer you the option of a conventional surgeon, and a hospital, on my tab," Miss Wayne said. "However, that is ... incomplete. What we propose is a potion..."

"Which will undoubtedly taste horrible," Karen interjected.

"...which will rewrite you, top to bottom, from a genetic male in a woman's body, to a genetic female. You will have menses..."

"Sorry about that," Karen added.

Miss Wayne shot a glance, clearing her throat, "As I was saying, you'll be a genetic female. One nice thing about this potion is that if you hold the image of a woman in your mind while you drink it, you'll look like that person. I wouldn't make too many changes, though, something that can be written off as minor plastic surgery if asked. I wouldn't ask for a EEE bust, either." She grimaced, "Take my word for it, the women in my family have always had a generous bust, my mother is a DD, I'm already up to a D myself. They're nice looking, the guys like them, but they're heavy and you get a backache."

"Mine also get sore during my period," Karen added, then made a throwaway gesture. "Personally, I've always thought you look like Liz Hurley's younger sister. Now, we don't want to rush you into a decision, but time is a factor in this potion. It takes a month of preparation and two months to brew."

"How many other people have done this, um, potion?"

Miss Wayne looked at Karen, "Hermione said she'd done three others like this."

"Don't forget Millicent," Karen said, adding in explanation, "Female to male. She absolutely HATED wearing the school skirts and tights, she was one of those big girls that look like she should have been a bloke. Professor Harry's year, and a pureblood, she was ready to snap her wand when..." She shook her head, "Happiest I've ever seen her, er, him. Michael now." She looked at her watch, "We've got just under half a mile to walk, we've got lodging set up for you, but time is a factor." She waved at the still-open doorway to the dark tunnel, "We'll need to know by the time we get to the Leaky Cauldron." At Liz' glance, she said, "The pub where you'll be staying, built in the early 1500's."

------------------------

"'_Lumos_'," Mattie said, flicking her wand as they walked along the tunnel. "I guess we really should get lights in here, with the amount of use I give it." Karen stopped, and Liz was able to read an antique wooden sign that said, 'The Leaky Cauldron'. "Up we go," Mattie said, gesturing to the set of stone stairs as they vanished above them in the darkness.

"Nah, it would detract from the charm," Karen said, as Liz' case floated along behind her.

------------------------

"Professor Dumbledore!" Karen called to the white-haired wizard who was taking inventory. Liz blinked as a quill and parchment floated in midair next to him. He turned, flipping a bar towel over his shoulder, and Liz saw a positively ancient man, with a waist-length white beard and turquoise robes.

"Good afternoon, Miss Bundy," he replied with consummate dignity, adding, "Miss Wayne, how very good to see you. How are classes going?"

"Hectic, professor, with mid-terms coming up. Still, this potion couldn't wait," she replied.

"Ah, yes, the one Hermione has been brewing for... two months, is it?" He looked over his half-moon spectacles at Liz, who was relieved to see a friendly twinkle in his eye.

"A bit over three, including the prep time," Mattie replied. "Some of the ingredients were a bit difficult to obtain, but Neville brought them off."

"Excuse me, but what's going on?" Liz asked.

"Ah, forgive me, my name is Albus Dumbledore, I will be your innkeeper for the next few nights. Wizzy?"

A small creature with bat ears popped into existence, Albus said, "Wizzy, please take the case up to room eleven. Miss Sterling will be our tenant, she will be imbibing a potion, and will need care," Albus said. He turned to Liz as Wizzy popped out, "Miss Sterling, my understanding is that the potion will be doing a procedure that you have desired, but have been unable to afford. If you wish to, please accompany Miss Wayne and Miss Bundy, they will proceed to handle the situation." He looked over his spectacles again. "That is, if you do wish this. If you do not, you are about a quarter mile north of the Greywolf offices, three-eighths from Miss Wayne's Arrowhead. Up those stairs, right, left, right, and out the door to Charing Cross. Please push hard, the door sticks."

------------------------

"What is this place?" Liz asked, as the three of them hurried along the snowy street. It looked like it had been lifted from Victorian England, with the exception of businessmen sitting in a tea shop that was magically clear of snow; talking on mobiles, and groups of chattering girls in jeans and robes, packages floating obediently behind them as they gossiped. She didn't notice that people recognized Miss Wayne, and drifted aside for her, although Karen did.

"It's called Diagon Alley," Karen replied. "We're a bit short on time, we'll give you a tour later. We want the street to the left ahead, then Zabini apothecary to the left."

------------------------

A small brass doorbell tinkled as they pushed into the small, funny smelling shop. A young woman looked up from behind the counter and smiled, she wore a light green shirt with '_Blaise_' embroidered on the left. "Hello, Miss Wayne, Miss Bundy. Are you here for that potion of Hermione's?"

"Yes, please," Karen said, and Blaise waved her hand, "She's in the back, Neville's helping her. Miss Wayne, I understand Professor Snape's been working on a potion for you?"

Karen motioned to Liz as Miss Wayne flicked a hand, a light blue sphere containing the two. "Come on, they'll be discussing business. Some ultra-secret project that Anne's involved in." She noticed Liz looking at the sphere, "Privacy spell. You did know that we were witches?"

"Does that mean that Miss Wayne has been using, um..."

"Spells? Magic?" Karen shook her head, "No. In addition to being very illegal, it would be unethical, any witch or wizard can cancel it, there would be no benefit to it. Hello, Neville, this is Miss Sterling. Liz Sterling, Neville Longbottom."

"H'lo, Miss Sterling," the slightly chubby fellow with light brown hair said. His shirt was red, with '_Neville_' embroidered on the left, and a dirt stain on his knee. "I'll take you to Hermione, she's been anxious about this potion."

"Why the different colour shirts," Liz wondered quietly, but Neville heard her, "Our Hogwarts Houses. I don't remember you, where did the Hat put you?" Liz could swear he capitalized 'Hat'.

"Not really necessary for Slytherin," Karen said. "Too bad the Student-Alumni game this year was cancelled, I was looking forward to playing against Mattie."

"Oh, lord, not you, too Karen," a bushy-haired brunette said from in front of a triple row of bubbling cauldrons. "Please spare me from Quidditch fanatics." She brushed back her hair, tapped a cauldron and said, "You must be Miss Sterling. That one is yours, Karen, stir once anti-clockwise every thirty seconds. I'll be in the office with Miss Sterling, answering her questions." She glanced at a clock-spell that floated above that cauldron, "You cut it close, four minutes left." She shoved her wand in her pocket, and gestured to Liz, "This way, please."

------------------------

"What do you know, and what do you need to know?" the bushy-haired witch whose red shirt proclaimed her '_Hermione_', and below that, '_Potion Mistress_'. "Unfortunately, for the potion to be most effective, you need to take it within the next few minutes. It will essentially rewrite you, and your DNA, to be a genetic female. You will experience menses, and you can become pregnant. I apologize, it looks like you were rushed into this."

"An hour ago, I didn't know witches and wizards existed," Liz admitted. "I'd seen news on the telly of the JLA, and Zatanna, but I thought she was a one-off."

"Witches and Wizards average about one in a thousand," Hermione said. "If you decide to take this, you'll be sick as a dog for about a day, then weak as a kitten for about three days. I'll be more than happy to answer those questions, but we really don't have much time."

"If I don't?"

"Karen walks you out the door, I flush the potion down the loo and bill Miss Wayne." Hermione glanced at a clock, "One minute, luv. Genetic male or female, Miss Sterling?"

------------------------

"So how does this work?" Liz asked, nervously watching the rows of bubbling cauldrons.

"You don't have any active spells, do you?" Hermione asked, waving her wand over Liz. "No, you don't. We take a single hair, at least four inches long, stir it into the potion and you drink it as you hold in your mind the image of what you'd like to look like. You'll have about an hour to get back to..."

"The Cauldron," Karen said. "Plenty of time. Undress and into bed with you."

"I'll stop by after the shop closes to check on you and answer questions," Hermione said, and shot a pointed glance at Karen, muttering, "You Slythies keep too many secrets."

"Gryffs tilt at windmills," Karen replied, unruffled. "Potions always taste horrible, it's a law of the universe."

"There is a quarter-gram of cinnamon and three basil leaves in this," Hermione replied. "Unfortunately, they're ingredients, not there for taste." She poured the potion through a strainer into a plain silver goblet, adding, "A virgin silver goblet, freshly cast, never before used is part of the associated spell. Know what you want to look like?" Liz nodded, and Hermione said, "Cheers."

"Bleargh," Liz said, draining the goblet. "That's horrible!"

"Believe me, there are worse," Hermione replied. "Clock's running, ladies! Shoo!" Karen plucked on Miss Sterling's sleeve, they hurried out the door into the afternoon.

------------------------

"Miss Wayne," Hermione called. "A minute of your time?" She held open the door to the tiny office, taking the chair behind the desk. She gazed for a moment at the younger woman, then flicked her wand to create a privacy spell, hissing, "How dare you bring in that person without full, informed consent?"

"She had consent!" Mattie replied. "She could turn around at any time and walk away, you know I wouldn't have done anything to her."

"No, you wouldn't have," Hermione granted. She leaned forward, snapping, "I do not appreciate being made an unwilling accomplice, Miss Wayne. An hour's notice is not sufficient when you're dealing with such a life-altering decision. A week or a month would have been better, especially with a muggle. Explain yourself, do we need to obliviate her?"

Mattie sighed, and said, "It's not an excuse, but I _had_ booked time a month ago to let her know. I was planning on a lunch at the Cauldron, the reminder came up on my Palm, and then damage control with that horrible press conference and the Halloween Ball." She sighed again, "She wasn't a squeaky wheel. It slipped my mind until today, but I don't think we need to obliviate her..."

"You don't think so?" she said incredulously. "How many muggles have you introduced to the wizarding world, and your family does not count." Hermione gazed at Miss Wayne, then softened a bit, "I understand your desire to help, but you will apologize to Miss Sterling, answering her questions. I will inform Professor McGonagall, she will decide if Miss Sterling needs to be obliviated. I'll also ask Poppy to stop in and take a look at her. With good luck, we won't be in Azkaban for the rest of our lives."

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, December 5, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Staffroom: 07:21 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Are there any questions?" Minerva asked.

"I did have one," Harry said. "I went over the records from Miss Wayne and Miss Bundy's excursion to the 14th century, and I realized that they did not cover boggarts." He tented his fingers, "I realize that they have already faced what is probably their greatest fears, but I still need to tick those boxes for the Ministry, and I am quite nervous about what those fears are." He reached out to take a sip of tea, "I was wondering how to proceed."

"Offer them a private session with a boggart," Remus said, adding, "To avoid the appearance of impropriety, you might have Ginny sit in." Harry looked at his wife, who nodded.

"Thank you, Remus, that's what we'll do," Harry replied.

"As that's settled, I was going to ask Miss Bundy if she minded adding something to her Christmas parcel home," Minerva said. "I was thinking of a Christmas greeting to our Hogwarts counterparts in 1380, just a scroll."

"I think," Remus said, "that if people just signed their names, with no other information, that would be relatively safe. I know they would appreciate knowing we are thinking of them."

"Then with Miss Bundy's consent, I shall make the announcement. If there was no other business, we can adjourn to the Great Hall, and breakfast."

------------------------

Julie saw the Headmistress enter the Great Hall with the rest of the faculty, pausing a moment to ask something of Anne Bundy. She proceeded to the head table, where she rapped on her goblet with a butter knife. "Your attention, please. I'm certain that some of you recall April, when you received mail from your ancestors in the 14th century. We have determined that it will be safe enough for you to sign a Christmas greeting to them." She waited for the murmuring to die down, "However, we cannot permit letters, or any indication of the future. You will need to be content with just your signature," she looked around the Great Hall, "your _legible_ signature," and people laughed. "The scroll will be in the entrance hall for you to sign," she added as she sat down, accepting a plate of kippers.

------------------------

"Thou wished to see us, Professor?" Anne asked after class.

"Yes," he said, as Ginny stole into the room. "I need to tick off something for the Ministry for you two. You missed the class on boggarts last year."

The two girls traded glances, then Miss Wayne said, "With respect, I've looked into my worst fear, and I see absolutely no way to make it humorous."

"Aye," Anne agreed. "I know of mine own, fragmentation of the timeline cannot be a jape."

"Sir, there are six people on this planet that know what my ultimate purpose is," Mattie said. "Flunk me if you wish, but I will not expose that."

"Not even a hint?" Professor Harry said in exasperation. "It can't be worse than my own, Voldemort resurrected again."

"Professor," Mattie said, almost gently, "Voldemort would be preferable."

He sighed, "Miss Wayne, without some idea of what it is, I cannot pass you on this. I understand Miss Bundy's, I'll pass her on that."

Anne nodded and left, and Ginny suggested, "Could he read it from your mind?"

Mattie blew out her hair, "If you will not reveal this. My nightmare is failure of my mission, and I will do what I must to complete it successfully."

"I'll agree to that," Harry said, then raised his eyebrow at her. Miss Wayne nodded ready, her green eyes locked on his as he raised his wand, '_Legilimens_!'

------------------------

"Harry?" Ginny asked, worried about him.

"She's right, there's no way that can be made humorous," he said with a dry throat. He shook his head to clear it, adding, "I'll be wanting some dreamless sleep potion tonight."

"That bad?" she asked softly.

"That bad," he agreed.

------------------------  
_**Thursday, December 6, 2001:  
**__**Hogwarts, Charms class**__**: 17:00 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

As the bell rang for the end of class, Professor Flitwick called, "Miss Wayne, Miss Tonks, Miss Bundy and Mr. Morton, please stay a minute." Addressing the rest of the class, he said, "Next week is the mid-term examination, please be certain to study hard!" He waited until the last student had left on the way to dinner, then flicked his wand at the door to seal it. Taking a seat on a table, he regarded the four, "I had a question regarding our project Sisal. I am as confident as I can be regarding the spell, as is Professor Snape regarding the potion. The only thing left is..."

"To test it..." Mattie whispered.

"Yes, to test it," Professor Flitwick replied quietly. "In that regard, I inquired of Professor Sinestra of a similar star to our own that was relatively close. Her price for that answer was to go along, you have only whet her appetite, Miss Wayne." He regarded the four, "In addition, she has figured out some things. I have not violated my oath, but you will need to brief her in." He shifted on the table, "Tau Ceti is only twelve light years away, very similar to our own system. How soon could we get there?"

"Alfred's top speed is a bit more than 23 light years an hour, but it will take time to get to the hyper limit, just past Mars' orbit," she replied slowly.

"We doth not know if the speed hath an effect," Anne said. "Mayhap a star a bit further away would do? Anon, how much time do we have?"

"Out and back by convoy at ten lights an hour, say a thousand light years..." Mattie mused.

"Two days out at 20 an hour, and five days back at ten an hour," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Sorry, that's a week, I doubt my parents would go for it."

------------------------  
_**Fri**__**day, December 7, 2001:  
London, The Leaky Cauldron, Room 11: 13:12 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Liz looked up at the knock on the door, "Come in, please," she said.

Miss Wayne poked her head around the door, "Feel like a visitor?" Liz waved, and she entered, wearing a grey pleated skirt, white tights and a black jumper with a school logo and a green and silver striped tie. She shrugged off her outer robes, tossing them over a chair. Liz patted the bed, Miss Wayne smoothed her skirt and took a seat, asking, "How do you feel?"

"I never thought I'd miss afternoon telly," Liz admitted. "I've been napping quite a bit, and I've enjoyed (she finger-quoted) my first period."

"That sucks," Miss Wayne agreed. "Part of the package, though."

"The thought that I can now become pregnant..." Liz shuddered, "If a period is bad, how much worse is giving birth?"

"Something I am NOT looking forward to," Miss Wayne agreed. She nodded at Liz' laptop, "Karen brought that, I assume?"

"You want me to work from my sickbed?" Liz asked with a grin, and Miss Wayne looked insulted. Liz raised her hand, "Just having you on." She propped herself up, "I forget you're still in school. You must have quite a bit on your plate."

"You have no idea," Miss Wayne sighed, shifting her position, "I must offer a huge apology. I really did have time budgeted to discuss this with you, but things came up..." She sighed, extracting her Palm® from her pocket, "Look at October 31," she said, handing it over. "I had planned on lunch, but that horrible press conference, and then the Halloween ball." She mused a bit, "At least I got a promise ring from my boyfriend..."

"That's so sweet," Liz agreed, passing the Palm back. "Mr. Dumbledore came by to discuss various things, he sounded like a barrister."

"He's actually a senior, well, the senior judge," Miss Wayne said. "He's... unique." She sighed, "How can I make this up to you?"

"A shopping spree at Harrods, I should think," Liz judged, then added, "Oh, and one of those wand things, please. Mr. Dumbledore asked me to wave his about. He said I might be a 'squib', whatever that might be. He was going to investigate why I hadn't got a letter."

Miss Wayne's eyebrow shot up, and she passed over hers. Liz inspected it, a glossy black wood, then gave it an experimental wave, and sparks shot out of it. Handing it back, she asked, "What's it made of?"

"Onyx with a nightmare tail core," was the answer, "A custom wand. We'll get you one, if you'll accept proper instruction on it, and yes, nightmares, werewolves, and vampires exist." Miss Wayne shifted on the bed, folding her legs to sit tailor-fashion, "That would be interesting. To interpret, a 'squib' is a person, born to a magical family, who doesn't have much magic. The term itself I've always thought as slightly derogatory. You've heard of the effort to map the human genome?"

Liz shifted, sitting up in the bed and re-arranging her pillows as she nodded. Miss Wayne continued, "You're aware that some people are more susceptible to disease because of their genes? The last theory I've heard, which makes sense to me, is that there are a series of 'magic' genes, the more that are 'on', the more powerful the witch or wizard. Professor Dumbledore, being a fairly powerful wizard, would have more 'on' than another."

"I can see that," Liz replied. "What is a 'letter'?"

"There is a introductory letter sent to prospective students that have enough magic, inviting them to attend Hogwarts," Miss Wayne replied, touching the school crest on her jumper. "One of the instructors or the Headmistress visits muggle, or non-magical parents to answer questions. Hermione is a muggle-born witch." Liz gestured to Miss Wayne, she grinned slightly, "My father is originally Scottish, my mother French. Neither one of them knew they came from wizarding bloodlines, it was an... interesting conversation. What I think Professor Dumbledore will do is check with the Headmistress to determine if a letter was sent to your parents, and what happened. Why don't you call them and ask?"

Shaking her head, Liz said, "They died in a car crash three years ago. My brother... well, we're not speaking." She sighed, "With Ash gone, Christmas is going to be lonely this year."

"I'm sorry," Miss Wayne said. She was about to say something, then decided against it. Shaking her head, she changed the subject, "Harrods. When will the doctors let you out?"

"Miss... Pomfrey, is it?" Miss Wayne nodded, she continued, "She wanted me to have a day of rest at home, she said I could go home tomorrow morning."

"Then do you want me to set up a 'girl's day out' for Sunday? We can have some fun with that," Miss Wayne said, digging a card out of her wallet and tossing it to Liz, who picked it up.

"I've heard of these..." she admitted, handing back the black AMEX card. "Shouldn't that be a 'witch's day' out?"

"That's what's fun about it," Miss Wayne grinned, "People have _heard_ of them, but they've never actually seen one. They think it's a fake, and ask me for another one. Whether it's worth the £650 annual fee, I don't know.

------------------------  
_**Sun**__**day, December 9, 2001:  
London, Bayswater, 71 Hereford Road, #9A: 09:07 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Liz looked up at the knock, opening the door to... Miss Wayne? She blinked, then smiled, "I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you for a moment. Why did you change your haircolour?"

"Like it?" her boss asked, pulling off a green knit cap. "Red hair and a green cap, kinda Christmassy, I think. It's actually a poor attempt at disguise for the Tube. Do you know whose motorcycle that is in your space? It has a For Sale sign on it."

"It's Ash's," Liz said. "I could use the money, but..." She slapped her forehead, "Silly me, where are my manners? Please, come in, would you like a cuppa?" Taking her guest's coat (who stole another look at the motorbike), she asked, "Why would you need a disguise?"

"Paparazzi," she sighed. "Ever since that damned news conference, they've been trying to catch me with my semi-mythical boyfriend. I'm not putting him through that hell," she said, accepting a cuppa.

Liz stepped back to the sink, scrubbing a plate, "I apologize for the state of the flat, but it's difficult to keep without Ash's pay packet. I'm looking for another place, but I like this one."

"Interested in a room-mate?" Mattie asked, rolling up her sleeves and accepting the plate to dry. "Where..." she asked, looking up and around.

"Above to the left," Liz said, and Miss Wayne looked at her, "Just so you know, today it's Mattie, not 'Miss Wayne'," she said. Opening the cabinet, she tried to stretch up, finally standing on the edge of a lower cabinet. "I hate being short," she muttered. Accepting another plate, she stretched again, "Secondly, if those bills had anything at all to do with Ash, I'd like you to collect them up, get me a total, and I'll handle them. I've got solicitors I haven't used yet, we'll get you squared away." She looked over at Liz as she accepted another plate, "Ash... is connected with the Solar Guard, that makes those bills my responsibility."

"Is... IS connected, you said," Liz declared, turning and looking down at her petite guest. "Present tense. Please tell me what you know. _Please_..."

"Please understand that you're not cleared for this," Mattie said softly, and Liz nodded. "She was last seen with my Uncle Eddie, I hope and pray that he makes the Christmas return to Eunomia."

For a minute, her mask slipped and Liz could see her own worry. "Your uncle," she asked softly, and Miss Way... Mattie nodded. "I don't know where they are, he and one other are the last two out there..." she whispered. "That's all I know, I'm sorry. If there's any way to get her home safely, he'll do it."

"But what about her 'death'?" Liz asked, sinking to a chair at the table.

"She was injured in a fight, they decided to cover her as a fatality, at her request," her guest said quietly, sinking into another chair. She took a sip of the now cold tea, "That's why I went along with it, you probably know why better than I do. I understand she never did get along with her father."

"No, he wanted her to be a Stepford wife and mother to three tykes," she admitted. "A perfect clone of his own departed wife. He couldn't let her be her own person." Shaking herself, "I can see her as a spy, she always had wanderlust. She took that motorcycle and rode it to Berlin once, then turned around and rode back, through Belgium just to pick up chocolate. That's why I don't want to sell it, it's a reminder..."

Mattie took a sip of her now-cold tea, asking, "I was planning to go to Eunomia for the holidays, cheer up the troops and watch for them. I don't know what your plans are, though."

"Got room for another?" Liz asked, standing and crossing to the tea kettle.

------------------------

"So what were you saying about a room-mate?" Liz asked as they walked down to the Bayswater Tube platform.

"My non-mythical boyfriend has an older sister, Rebecca, who's doing a business internship with Greywolf," Mattie said as she touched her Oyster card to the yellow circle. She shoved through the barricade, "Circle line, wasn't it?"

"Or the District line to Edgeware Road," Liz said. "Either one is correct. Tell me a little more about her," she asked.

"She has a three-year old, Carson, who will presumably be in our day care," Mattie said. "A younger sister, Julie, that's a couple years behind me at school is coming with us to check you out, so be warned," she added with a grin. "That's assuming the motorcycle owner returns and hasn't quenched her wanderlust yet."

She leaned forward to look, hearing the incoming train, and Liz put out a hand, "Mind the gap."

------------------------

"Ha'pence for your thoughts," Liz said, and Mattie shook her head, "Sorry. I was thinking of Ash's motorcycle. I'd love to buy it, but I don't have a driver's license." She grinned, "Hopefully our missing friend will want to use it on her return. Here we are, Charing Cross station."

------------------------

"Do you remember the pub's name?" Mattie asked, as they walked north up Charing Cross.

"The Sprung something, wasn't it?" Liz said. She stopped, looking back the way they had come, "Why didn't they see you?" making a small gesture to the TV crews they had walked past, camped out in front of Arrowhead's offices.

"I've got a 'notice-me-not' spell on me, with the hair, I think that did it," she said, pulling on the door with a grunt. "And it's the 'Leaky Cauldron', by the way." She gestured, "After you."

------------------------

"Who are all these people?" Liz asked, somewhat nervously.

"Ladies who are in need of a little retail therapy," Albus said. "Allow me to introduce everyone. Moving clockwise, you of course know Miss Wayne, to her right is her best mate, Miss Tonks, her older sister Nymp..."

"Albus!"

"Forgive me," he said with great dignity. "Her sister, currently sporting pink hair, goes by the sobriquet 'Tonks', nothing else and is seated to her right. To Miss Tonks' right, the young blonde witch is Miss Julia Morton, to Miss Morton's right is Miss Hermione Granger. Next, we have the Bundy sisters, Anne and her older sister Karen, who you know. To Miss Granger's right, with the red hair is Mrs. Potter..."

"Albus..."

"Forgive me, my dear. Mrs. Potter's maiden name is Weasley, Ginevra. What can I get you ladies to drink?"

"Albus, how many times must I remind you it's Ginny?" the red haired woman said with a smile. Her brown eyes sparkled, "Mattie, are you trying to become an honorary Weasley?" People chuckled or giggled as she continued, "Hermione told us that you just found out you're a witch. Well, with Mattie there to pay the bills, we'll get you up to scratch. We're going to give you some quick spellcasting lessons..."

"No wand yet," Hermione said, reaching over to pat Liz' hand. She turned, "Everyone has different strengths and weaknesses, mine happens to be Potions..."

"And a mind like a bloody compulator," Tonks said. "First stop, Ollivander's."

"Fine wands since 382 B.C," her sister added.

------------------------

"Willow, nine and a quarter inches, a hair from a particularly beautiful unicorn's mane," Mr. Ollivander finally pronounced. "Excellent for spell-work. The wand chooses the witch or wizard, my dear," he said, clearing his throat.

"Add in a wand sheath, please," Mattie said. "How much do I owe you?"

"She will be receiving instruction?" Mr. Ollivander asked, passing over a boxed sheath. Hermione waved, and Mr. Ollivander relaxed. "Very well, twelve and eight, Miss Wayne."

------------------------  
_**Sun**__**day, December 9, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff 4**__**th**__** year boys dorm: 12:04 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Arthur settled himself comfortably, sock feet propped on his bed, with his computer on his lap as he leaned back in his chair. He took a bite of the sandwich he had snagged from the Great Hall and logged into the Carson3 private chat room.

[Arthur: Okay, I'm here in my dorm, who else is here and why was this meeting called?  
[BillJr: I'm here in the Great Hall, Julie's off checking out Becky's potential roomie. (and shopping)  
[Elena: Of course, Bill, it's what we do. Hi from Corfu! How's everyone's Sunday afternoon?  
[Becky: It's not ALL we do. Is there a backup plan in case we're not compatible?  
[Arthur: Maybe you can bunk with Ms. Hawking in Soho, instead of with Ms. Sterling.  
[Becky: How much of a commute is it?  
[Arthur: Cross-town, but the Tube is clean and reasonably efficient. I'd figure 20-30 minutes for that, but you can email Ms. Sterling, Julie will be getting her address. The Greywolf and Arrowhead buildings are maybe a quarter-mile apart, but they're on opposite sides of Charing Cross Rd.  
[Becky: What about expenses?  
[BillJr: London's an expensive town, a pint in a pub is 2-3 # (i cant find the pound symbol thing)  
[Elena: And HOW would you know that?  
[BillJr: Err, some of the older guys... sweats  
[Arthur: Do you mean this pound symbol thing? '£' In any case, hes right Becky. If you can transfer your credits from OSU that means you can use a stuendt Oyster card, which saves you big on tube fares. Right now its like a $1.50 to the pound, so that draft pint that costs you £2 is $3. There's a lot of drinking going on, there's a 'local' pub for everyone, and Greywolf has on on their ground floor (what we would call the first floor).  
[Maggie: I'm sorry we're late, but your father is looking over my shoulder. What's everyone discussing?  
[Elena: Becky's internship in London, Mom. Hi from Corfu, and I love ya both!  
[Maggie: We love you, and Teela just came in. She says 'hi' to everyone.  
[Elena: Teela, you need to start running! I want to see 5# off when I'm home on leave!  
[Maggie: She just groaned. But I remember the doctor bills from the shins splints she got last time she tried. What about Hank and Misty?  
[Misty: We're here, we couldn't get an word in. What's the deal?  
[Arthur: Before we get into that, I had a question. We're coming back next week aboard the Yates, should I ask about picking Elena up in Corfu, or maybe having her meet us in London?  
[Elena: That might be politically difficult, I'm trying not to trade on my knowing Mattie, who is afetr all my CO.  
[Maggie: Honey, this is your dad. If you touch base with your CO there, I don't think there would be a problem. That kind of horsetrading happens all the time in the military, just don't let it get away from you. If you need to, I'm sure you could be picked up in London.  
[Arthur: Shoot me an email at school, Let me know what your Co says, and I'll set it up with Mattie.  
[Maggie: Your dad again. Your mothe and i were doing some research, and were thinking about scooping out gassses from the outer planets. Oxygen is no problem to extract, but hydrogen, helium, and the others are not readily available on the moon.  
[Elena: I undersand it's done in other starsystems, Dad. I think Uranus, and stop giggling, Bill!  
[BillJr: I snicker never said a word.  
[Misty: Ah, so that'w why we're here. Some sort of baloon?  
[Arthur: What about the lunar claim?  
[Maggie: Still going forward, we'd probably build the ship in orbit  
[Misty: Easiest would be two seperate modules, a manned crew module and a balloon tanker rig of some sort. Detach, scoop, dock and transfer, and repeat if necessary. While the scoop is scooping, the tanker could be seperating an and compressing the gasses.  
[Becky: The scoop could be left in orbit. Power? Engines?  
[Maggie: To be determined. Arthur any news about fusion?  
[Arthur: We have built galtech generators, I've seen one that was built in Toronto. The limiting factor, and why Mattie isn't using them, is because of the limited quantity of 'fuel' available. There's only about 850kg in the system, and she doesn't want to be embargoed.  
[Misty: Why doen't we make this 'feul' then?  
[Becky: What does it look like, anyway? Any handling problems?  
[Arthur: I handled a baby food jar of it with about 1 oz. It looks like grey table salt, but it apparently needs a black hole to manufacture it. It's direct conversion o matter to energy, but that's why she' pushing solar and fusion. I think she's worrying too much.  
[Maggie: Your dad still, I can see her reasoning. What does everyone know about engines?  
[Misty: Hank just made a truly awful joke.  
[Elena: I've heard his jokes. For this, depending on the time, we could probably use grav engines, it might be a week or two to Uranus. Then what Misty said, scoop 'n flush, rinse, repeat. The kicker is power. Can we get nukes?  
[Maggie: I'm not nuclear-qualified, and I'm trying to keep this in the family, or at least the neighborhood.  
[Arthur: What about financing?  
[Maggie: Can you ask Gringotts? Who does Mattie use?  
[Arthur: His name's Griplink, I can get his number or email from her. Who's our best negotiator for rates and terms? We'll need a good one.

------------------------  
_**Sun**__**day, December 9, 2001:  
London, Oxford Street, Marks and Spencer: 13:22 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"What do you think?" Mattie asked, holding up a frillier than average black bra. "It's different, but I'm not sure it's really me."

"Oh, like it matters what you wear with Arthur," Sprink mock-complained. "He doesn't have to see it if he doesn't want to."

"Huh?" Liz grunted as Mattie blushed. Sprink grinned, "Let me tell you a story about our Queen here," and Mattie groaned, "Oh, gawd..." Ginny giggled as Tonks said, "I think it's a good thing I'm off duty today."

"Y'see, our fav'rite Queen partnered with me for our Summer Potion." Her older sister held Mattie in place as Sprink continued, "Now, we Slythies have to do a potion when we return to school in September and after first year. We picked Julie's brother Arthur, Mattie's boyfriend, for the vict... er, subject."

Julie grabbed Mattie's other arm as Tonks drank her takeaway tea, "This is something I never knew, from you OR my brother. Please continue, and I think pink lace would look _fabulous_ on you, dear..." Mattie visibly flinched at that, as her roomie continued, "Now, we must'a gotten something wrong, but it turns out that Arthur..."

"I think I prefer the aliens to you guys," Mattie interrupted. "THEY only try to kill you."

"We could resurrect Fudge," Tonks offered. "Or you could summon a demon..."

"In the lingerie department? Certainly not, it would be... inappropriate. Besides, _I_ did not summon demons," Mattie said with great dignity. "My _mother_ summoned them to rescue me from the 14th century."

Liz saw a frown flit across various faces before asking, "Who or what is Fudge, and what's this about a demon?"

"Cornelius Fudge was Minister for Magic," Hermione said quietly. "His was the first government she overthrew, which explains why the current Ministry tiptoes around her."

"Please, guys, I have to work with Liz here..." Mattie said.

"No, no, it's quite fine," Liz said. "One likes to know that one's boss can do such a thing, in case one gets in a sticky bit. However..." she looked about, "Should we be discussing this here?"

"Notice-me-not spell," Tonks said. "Now, what's this about demons? There were all sorts of rumours floating about the Ministry when you'd been kidnapped last year..."

------------------------

"Oh, there's a guy I think is really cute," Julie said to fill the awkward silence. "I don't think he knows I exist."

"Who is it? C'mon, spill," Mattie demanded.

"Hartley Ravensworth."

"Really tall, third year 'Claw?" Mattie asked. "Their Keeper?"

"Yeah."

"There be upper years who doth seek that one particular swain," Anne observed.

"Do you blame them?"

Anne thought for a moment. The boy in question was handsome, polite, and sang in the school choir like an angel, even if his magical skills were not the most developed. "Nay. We doth be in agreement, he 'tis most fetching. I hath considered him myself."

------------------------

"Home sweet flat," Liz said as she unlocked the door. "Such as it is."

"Nice, quiet, neat," Julie said. "May I borrow your pot?" She rephrased it, "The loo."

"Ah, just to the right, there." As the door closed, Liz whispered, "Does she know about..." she gestured to her waist.

"Not unless you say something," Mattie replied quietly. "You, me, Karen, Hermione, and Madame Pomfrey. Nobody else has a need to know, including Julie and Becky."

Liz breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, I'd wondered." The loo flushed, and Julie emerged a minute later.

------------------------

_To: Becky  
CC: Mom & Dad (home)  
From: Julia Morton  
Date: 9 December 2001  
Subject: Liz Sterling & her flat _

_I just got back from a shopping trip with Liz and the girls. (No, I didn't spend much, Mom!). Liz is a friendly young woman, early 20's, who's working with Mattie as one of Arrowhead's programmers. Becky and Carson could therefore take the Tube together with her, splitting up to drop off Carson at the day care (I have one of their brochures that I'll bring home with me, they have a private web-cam that parents can sign in to during the day.). One of the bennies offered to parents is the company has a contract with the day-care, Becky would get a discount, and it's only a few blocks away from the office. _

_Greywolf and Arrowhead are fairly close to the Charing Cross tube station, and maybe half a mile south of the Leaky Cauldron. I would suggest both Becky and Carson get tube passes, called 'Oyster cards', which will save lots of $$$ (or should that be £££?). Again, I have brochures and whatnot. _

_Regarding college, there's a college in the University of London that specializes in the 'working adult' student, called Birkbeck. UK universities are set up differently, as I understand it, you enroll in a college, and take university classes in the different colleges. Mattie agreed to have her Soho townhouse used as a mail drop for the university as long as you change it when you enroll. Again, lots of brochures and paperwork. I've also got account information if you want to set up a local bank account with Gringotts (They're the private bank that Greywolf and Arrowhead are using, nobody seems to be having trouble using a wizarding bank.). Again, lots of information. _

_Regarding the flat (apartment), it's in an older building, with one associated parking place (currently occupied by a motorcycle). It's a few blocks from a Tube station, so that really doesn't matter. London is a very 'green' city, there are parks EVERYWHERE. This is #9A, a two bedroom, 1 bath with a fairly small kitchen/nook on the first floor. Crime doesn't seem to be a problem, if you take precautions. It does have Internet through BT (British Telecom), there is a laundry room, gas appliances. I've taken pictures, I'll print them and bring them along. _

_That's really all I can think of, I've written out Liz' home email if you want to write her, and I gave her yours, Becky.  
Julie _

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, December 12, 2001:  
**__**Hogwarts, Potions class**__**: 15:32 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

There was a cell phone's ring in the silent classroom, with a voice that said, "Wayne." People stole glances out of the corner of their eyes, and she exhaled in relief. "Thank you." Dropping the phone back in a pocket, she said, "One of our two missing ships just crossed into the system."

"That is all well and good, Miss Wayne," Professor Snape said, taking her paper up. He crossed to his desk, "I do not know if someone gave you hints. Start over, and see me after class," and he placed a fresh sheet of paper on her desk. She groaned and dipped her quill in the inkpot again.

------------------------

After class, Professor Snape said, "Miss Wayne, while I allow you to retain your little muggle devices due to your other duties, that does not give you the right to distract the other students with them. Five points from Slytherin and a detention for you tonight at seven p.m. These penalties will increase with each further occurance."

"Yes, sir," she said. Pausing a moment, she said, "I'd like to apologize, sir. I set up the alert a while ago, but I forgot it was a phone message. My other ones are email."

------------------------

"Which 'tis it?" Anne asked as she waited outside the classroom.

"The one with Mr. R, the twins, and the other," Mattie said, casting a privacy spell. "They're going to be debriefed at Eunomia, I'll go out there with the _Yates_ and one of our Sisal rigs, we'll leave the other one here in Classroom Thirteen." She looked at Anne, then at Arthur, Charlie and Sprink, "I'll be fine with Professor Sinestra, Alfred's going to do a running commentary. I want you lot to enjoy the Christmas holidays. Anne, did you send your present yet?"

"Nae, I was going to do so tomorrow," she replied.

Dropping the privacy spell, Mattie said, "Go on, I need to make a quick call." She watched them go, then pulled out her phone, "Liz? Mattie Wayne. I've got a little bit of news I just heard..."

------------------------  
_**Thursday, December 13, 1380: (Julian)  
London, The Strand, Bundy estate, kitchen: 06:19  
**_------------------------

With a burst of golden fire, a paper-wrapped parcel appeared, dropping a few inches to the stone hearth. With a startled shriek, Elizabeth jumped, then examined the parcel, flicking an ember from the heavy brown... parchment cover, as it appeared. On the top, in her daughter's achingly familiar hand, were the words:

_To: Mother and Father  
Happy Christmas 1380!  
_

_Love, Anne_

"Robert!" she called. "Robert, come, please. We've a package from Anne."

------------------------

"Shall we open it?" Robert asked, placing the surprisingly heavy box on the table. He turned it over, examining the doubled string holding it closed, the quality of the heavy brown parchment that enclosed it. He shook it gently, and heard something rattle inside.

"I am almost afraid to," Elizabeth admitted. "Still, my curiosity is eating me up! Oh, let's!" She gently ran her fingers over the string, then attacked the knot. Tugging at the string, it slithered onto the floor, where it was claimed by a cat. Unfolding the paper, it was carefully folded and set aside, revealing a white box of very stiff construction, with a clear gleam around the circumference.

Picking it up, Robert examined it, suddenly sucking in his breath. "Oh, my..." he admitted, as he turned it to show his wife. On the front was a picture in light grey against the white, with a leaping wolf over... was that Earth? Yes, there was a picture of England. Underneath were the words:

_Greywolf Transport, Ltd.  
Intercontinental – Interplanetary – Interstellar passenger and freight services. _

------------------------

Once they had figured out how to open the package (Anne had included a note 'Cut along the join' for them.), they discovered a brown parchment folder and scroll with the note '_To Headmistress Oldridge_' on it. As Elizabeth hurried to owl that off, Robert gazed at two objects wrapped in a translucent set of pillows. He had no idea what they were, but when a cat strolled on it to nap, her claws created a sharp 'crack' and the cat vanished with a 'yowl'.

"What 'twas that, my love?" Elizabeth asked as she returned.

"Sturmgard decided to nap on it," Robert replied. "Unfortunately for her, her claws pierced these little pillows, and it frightened her." He touched one with the tip of his dagger, and it popped with a 'crack'. "Shall we?" he asked, indicating the string binding the pillows.

"You do this one," she replied, watching with bated breath as he undid the string.

------------------------  
_**Friday, December 14, 2001:  
**__**Hogwarts, Entrance Hall**__**: 18:07 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"What's the hold-up?" someone called, as the doors to the Great Hall remained firmly shut.

"Who knows?" one of the twins said, and Sprink asked, "Arthur, I heard that your family was looking for a ship..."

"Shh!" he said, casting a privacy spell. "Who told you that?"

"Your brother," she replied, adding, "I haven't said anything, but if you are, we've got the new buoy tenders at Greywolf, an' there's a new startup that's customizing them."

"Okay, thanks," he said, dropping the spell. "Do you have some information on them?"

"'O course I do," she replied with a grin.

------------------------  
_**Saturday, December 15, 2001:  
**__**Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table**__**: 06:27 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Miss Bundy?" Anne looked up to see the Headmistress give her a flattened scroll with a small smile. "Your gift was received, at least Headmistress Oldridge forwards you a reply." She strolled on, taking her place on the High table, she tapped her knife against her goblet, "Your attention, please. I would just like to mention that your Christmas wishes were received, and your ancestors reply in kind. They wish you and yours a very Happy Christmas season. Thank you," she concluded, taking her seat.

Anne cracked the wax seal on the scroll, reading:

_13 December, 1380_

_  
Anne, our beloved daughter,  
Thank you ever so much for the beautiful artwork. We are glad to know that you are happy and safe, although we are somewhat concerned for the white box that you used – you must not tell us such things! Your father hath burnt it to ashes (producing a terrible smell) as a precaution. The fortune in gems and gold has been locked away in the strongroom. I wish you could let us know why you sent such a fabulous treasure, indeed a king's ransom, but I am certain we shall discover it anon. _

_Thank you for including a letter from each member of your new family. Kent seems a wonderful young fellow, and your sisters Karen and Kelly... _

------------------------

Mattie's phone rang, she listened for a minute, then said, "Thank you, Alfred. We'll be outside waiting for you." The rest of her study group glanced at her, "Arthur's sister Elena is running a few minutes late, she just boarded. He's planning on being here at 7:15, so my fellow Yanks have a little more than half an hour." She raised her hand, "You know the situation with Luthor, don't have the slightest thing strange for Customs. See you outside on the lawn at ten after."

------------------------

Heads turned as the small white ship banked over the Hogsmeade train station, setting down in the fresh snow outside the school's main doors. With a whine, the main hatch lowered, and Elena stepped out, wearing her cadet's uniform. She scooped up a double handful of snow, packing it into a snowball, and threw it at the students, then ducked, rubbing her hands on her sleeves as Bill threw one back.

Anne traded glances with Mattie, and together they scooped up snow, Anne saying, "This doth bring back memories."

"Yes, they're good people," Mattie agreed, pegging her boyfriend.

"What was that for?" he asked, hands working on his own snowball.

"Thanking you for the memories," she replied, and ducked.

------------------------

"What was the hold-up?" Julie asked as they settled down.

"New security procedures," Elena said. "We had to go into Gatwick first, get my transit visa validated, then come here. We'll have to do the same thing in New York, that's why we're going into La Guardia instead of JFK."

"That explains the change in plans," Connie Koslowski said, and shrugged. "You two don't mind riding in with my Mom, do you?"

"From the Island?" one of the twins said. "Na. Hey, I like that uniform," she added, referring to Elena's black jumpsuit and gray turtleneck.

"We're expanding," Elena replied. "We can use good people."

------------------------  
_**Saturday, December 15, 2001:  
**__**Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Morton home: 14:26 (GMT-5**__**  
**_------------------------

With a whine, the small white ship banked, settling at the apex of the traffic circle, and unfortunately knocking over a snowman. Two kids ran over, one ran up the lowering ramp, calling, "Hey, you trashed our snowman!"

Bill picked up his bag, "We'll come out and rebuild it with you, Mike. Just give us a bit to get our stuff into the house." The other kid had come up the ramp, and said, "Wow, this is a starship? This is so cool. How fast does it go?"

"My top speed," Alfred said, causing the kids to jump. "Is 23.37 light years an hour. While I am the oldest ship in the fleet, I am also the fastest," he added with a touch of pride.

"Who said that?" Mike said, eyes flicking around.

"Alfred Pennyworth, may I introduce Mike Mayer." Julie said with a giggle, adding, "Mike, you're standing in Alfred."

"AHHHH!" he yelled, running down the ramp. His younger brother looked around, then said, "Mr. Pennyworth, I'm Justin."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Mayer," Alfred said. "Thank you for not tracking mud inside me."

"You're... you're welcome," Justin said, still visibly nervous. "Where are you?"

"I am the ship, Mr. Mayer."

Bill rescued him, "Justin, let's go get some hot chocolate from your Mom, all right?" He looked up, "See you in a couple weeks, Alfred."

"My pleasure, Mr. Morton."

------------------------  
_**Monday, December 17, 2001:  
**__**Gotham City, **__The Iceberg Lounge__**: 15:02 (GMT-5**__**  
**_------------------------

The cabbie pulled up, and Mattie leaned forward to give him a twenty. "You sure you don't want me to wait, miss? This isn't the best area."

"I'll be fine, thanks," she said. "I'm meeting some relatives here."

------------------------

Sly looked up, unflappable as always, and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Wayne, but I'll have to ask you to leave. You're underage, we're risking our liquor license."

"I'm not asking you for a drink," she replied as she boosted herself onto a barstool. "I had a bit of business with Uncle Oswald, and I was in town for the Holidays, I thought I'd stop by and wish you all a Happy Christmas."

Sly raised an eyebrow at Harvey Dent, who was sitting next to her. He shrugged, "As long as she's escorted, you should be safe enough." Sly nodded, mixing another pair of doubles, and placing them before the disbarred prosecutor, "Your fee, counselor." He waved down a waitress, "Raven, please escort Miss Wayne to see the boss when he finishes with King Snake."

"Thank you," she said, tenting her fingers. She motioned at the tally-board Penguin used to indicate the Rouge's bar debts, "Where's Joker and Harley?"

"Joker's dead," Two-face replied. "In the shower at Blackgate, his neck was snapped. Lots of potential witnesses, but of course, nobody saw anything, and since it occurred in the shower, no fingerprints, except Joker's own, on the bar of soap shoved up..." (Sly coughed.) "...where the sun doesn't shine," he finished.

Mattie nodded, this amplified what her family had said as Sly added, "Harley, after she heard of Joker's death, mourned him for a while, then re-invented herself. Rumor currently has her as a gym teacher in Seattle."

"Under a new name, I'm sure," Miss Wayne said. "Thank you. By the way, I was thinking, I've got a few bottles of Pareek't juice at home, an offworld drink. Interested?"

"What does it taste like?" Two-face asked.

"A bit like cranberry, but it's got a kick like whiskey," she said. "My first hangover..." she grinned. "I'll have my brother Dick bring it by, keep it legal..."

------------------------

Mattie made a slight detour, stopping at the Rogues' table, placing her left hand on the Scarecrow's bony shoulder, saying, "I'd just like to wish you all a Happy Christmas and New Year!" She continued on as various patrons returned her best wishes, telling Raven, "Let's go see Uncle Oswald."

------------------------

"Kwakkwakkwak!" Oswald Cobblepot said, raising from behind his massive desk, "Thank you, Raven, my dear," he said in dismissal. He added, "Miss Wayne! This is indeed a pleasure! What can this kwak humble bird do for you?"

"A bit of personal business," she replied, air-kissing him. She took the seat he indicated as he resumed his, placing his chin on his fingers.

"As you kwak wish, my dear," he said, then his cigarette holder wobbled as she placed a velvet bag on the desk, with an envelope. She pulled out a light green uncut diamond the size of a golf ball, tapping the envelope. "Space is full of nice little surprises. This has been validated by a jeweler in London, the same one the Queen uses."

"Very kwak nice, my dear," he said, after perusing both. "What can this kwak humble bird do for you?"

"To assist in, er, feathering the nest, I would ask you to have a word with Professor Crane, and assist him in seeing the advantages in retirement." Her green eyes seemed to gleam in the subdued lighting, "I am not advocating his death, but I don't wish him raising another test tube." They regarded each other in silence, a thin curl of smoke wafting upwards from the Penguin's cigarette. He finally spoke, "He has been rather, kwak active recently."

"He attacked my mother," she said coldly. "That is unacceptable. While I do not require his death, you might... infer... that retirement is preferable to a pine box." She gestured at the diamond, "I am certain that you can... assist Professor Crane in seeing the financial benefits."

kwak "Possibly, Miss Wayne. Of course there are... administrative expenses..."

"Of course," she agreed, placing another, larger velvet bag on the table, along with another envelope. "I would, of course, expect that my family and our property is 'off limits'. Let us just call this a retainer." She sat back, tenting her fingers and watching in silence as Oswald Cobblepot leaned forward, a yellow rough-cut the size of a baseball emerging.

"Oh, kwak my," he said softly. He looked at her, "Aside from Professor Crane, how might this humble bird assist you, Miss Wayne?"

"I need advice," she said. "You are of course aware of my position in the Solar Guard." He nodded, and she continued, "I have received reports of an interstellar organization known as 'Black Hole'. The reports indicate they are a kleptocracy, with a family and honor structure similar to the Yakuza."

"Please kwak continue, my dear."

She nodded, "As you know, my remit is the physical and economic defense of Earth and it's people, within the constrains of the private bill passed by Parliament. Until we can develop our own warships, provide for our own defense of the system, our ships need protection, we need a very large guard dog."

Smoke curled from the end of his cigarette, a ceiling fan spun lazily as the two regarded each other, "You have something to offer besides cash," he opined.

"I do," she agreed. "We have in testing various technological advantages to offer them, which you do not need to know." He nodded as she continued, "I would prefer to approach them from either an equal or superior position, despite Earth's current military weakness."

kwak "You said 'current weakness'," he asked. "Without giving away your secrets, what is the nature of this advantage, is it weapons, ships..."

"Communications," she replied. "Currently, communications are by letter between stars. We have in testing an interstellar method that would be tremendously faster." She smiled, "Think of history, of communicating between London and San Francisco in the early 1800's. Sending a letter involves a ship across the Atlantic and around South America, a journey of months. Even a shortcut across the Isthmus of Panama still took weeks. Our innovation, should it pan out, would be akin to sending an email from London to San Francisco, a delay of seconds at most."

"Oh, my," he said, forgetting to quack. He regarded her across the desk in silence as his mind turned over the possibilities. "Oh, my," he said again. "I notice that you did not mention security." She regarded him as he mused, "That is kwak worth..."

"Those diamonds are sofa change in comparison," she agreed softly. "My duty is the defense of this system, Uncle Oswald. Until we can build warships and arm ourselves, we need a big guard dog. My only restrictions would be on the trading of slaves, I believe the tactical advantages outweigh the loss of that business. I think that's a reasonable limitation."

"Indeed," he said. "Tell me more about these Black Hole birds, my dear..."

------------------------

kwak "Raven, my dear, please take my car and ensure that Miss Wayne arrives home safely," Oswald said, tossing the waitress some keys. "I should be very much irritated should she, or any of her family or their property suffer a mischief," he added to the room at large. "Is that kwak understood by all?" He eyed the assorted criminals with a gimlet eye, "Professor Crane, a moment of your time, if you please?"

------------------------

"Beautiful car," Mattie said, admiring the gleaming black limo.

"You mean your mom and dad don't have these kind of cars?" Raven asked.

"Oh, there's a Rolls," she replied. "Most of the time, Mom drives either a Jag or a beat-up station wagon." Mattie grinned at her chauffeur, "Who'd expect a billionaire to drive something a soccer mom would drive?"

"True, very true," the waitress/chauffeur grinned, then held the door open, "Your carriage awaits, milady."

------------------------

"Oh, I recognize the blonde, in the red Corvette," Mattie said. "Can you pull up next to her, and I can play one-up?"

"Sure," Raven said. "Let me get my cap on, we'll be all posh. Who is she?"

"Old school enemy," Mattie said. "I don't think she's even old enough to drive."

------------------------

Rebecca Thornton glanced at her rear-view mirror, watching the gleaming black limo approaching in the next lane. '_Serious money, very serious_,' she thought, '_I wonder who_...' then let out a small shriek as she recognized that little bitch Wayne. What's worse, she had heard her, and put down a business paper, lowering her sunglasses, and saying, "Rebecca." Picking up her newspaper, she turned to the stock listings as the light changed.

------------------------

"Being public-spirited citizens and all," Raven said, "We should alert the police, don't you think, to underage driving?"

"Certainly, only thing to do, as fine, upstanding citizens," Miss Wayne agreed. "You want to, or should I?"

"Oh, I'll do it," Raven said, picking up the car phone. "Thanks," her passenger said. "Can we swing by the Knight's stadium store? I'd like to get some stuff."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, December 18, 2001:  
**__**Gotham City, WGHO studios: 07:35:03 (GMT-5**__**  
**_------------------------

Heather MacDonald looked up from her accounting textbook as the front door crashed open. Drawing her sidearm, she took cover behind the console as three men stormed in, shouting "Nobody move!"

"Just who the hell are you, and what do you want?"

"Wayne. She's here, the President ordered her arrested," one said. "We're Secret Service. Where is she?"

"What's she charged with, what kind of evidence you got? You need a warrant, and I want to see some ID," Heather demanded as she raised her pistol.

"No evidence, no charges, no warrant, and no crime that I know of, just a Presidential arrest order," the one agent said sourly. "More of Luthor's political games," he added, holstering his weapon as he came forward. He glanced at it, "Glock 17?"

"27," she replied, as she holstered hers.

"Good choice," he commented, waving the other two to stand down. "Sorry about the door," he added, pulling out his badge and handing it to her, leaning against the wall as she pulled a card folder from her bag and dialed her phone.

"Hello, I was given this number, can you verify a federal ID?" She read off the agent's credentials, then said, "They came to arrest Miss Wayne on Luthor's orders. No, no crime or anything the agent knows about, just an arrest order." She muted the phone, "Where were you going to take her?"

"Leavenworth," he replied, and she repeated that.

"Thanks, she said, disconnecting. Heather returned his ID as he asked "Where is she, another studio?"

"She's long gone, this is delayed," Heather replied, turning a knob:

"... the people that are interested in colonizing the moon, space, the asteroids have always been the one-in-a-thousand who want to see what's over the next hill. Daniel Boone is once reputed to have said that when he could see his neighbor's smoke..."

Heather turned the knob back, "We recorded this last night for this morning's show, she said she needed to go off-planet today."

"Crap," one of the until-now silent agents said. "Washington ain't gonna be happy, and you know who's gonna get blamed."

"They worship at the altar of Lex Luthor," the first said, handing over his card. "They have to. Sorry to bother you, miss. I'll let the office know to expect the station's bill regarding the door." He waved the others out, adding, "I like your show."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, December 18, 2001:  
Over the Atlantic, **__Cassidy Yates__**: 12:46 (GMT**__**  
**_------------------------

"Sterling."

"Hi, Liz!" Mattie said from the flight deck. "I'm sorry to cut your Christmas holiday short. Can you go down the street to the Cauldron? Tell Albus that you need to use their floo to get to Hogwarts, he'll help you. We'll stop off to pick up someone in Corfu, then go to Eunomia, I hope the motorcycle owner will be there."

"Right, floo to Hogwarts, I presume he'll explain that. Why does Corfu strike a bell, and what do I wear?"

"Corfu is Guard training, and what you have should be fine, if you don't have something we'll buy it. If you can switch me to Karen, I'll take care of the paperwork for you."

------------------------

"Castellano."

"Benni? Mattie. Get your stuff packed up, you're moving off planet. I've already cleared it with a federal judge in West Virginia, I'm on my way back from Gotham, and I've got some bad news."

"Oh, crap. Marone?"

"Yep. Five mil."

------------------------  
_**Monday, December 24, 2001:  
Washington, DC, White House, Oval Office**__**: 08:26 (GMT-5)  
**_------------------------

"... That's our final position, Mr. President," the Director of the FBI said. "Unless you have evidence against Miss Wayne relating to criminal charges that you are willing to place on the table, here and now, I will leave this meeting and proceed to Gotham City, where I will inform her family the Bureau has no reason to seek her arrest." He turned a scathing glance at the Assistant Attorney General that stood nervously in the corner, "We have examined the 'evidence' provided us by the Department of Justice, and cannot substantiate it. Our own investigations into Miss Wayne, in co-operation with other agencies (he nodded at the heads of CIA and Secret Service), have turned up nothing actionable."

"The continuing audit of her tax returns have revealed some questionable deductions, however we have found nothing criminal in that regard," the IRS chief said. "If anything, she overpays her taxes."

"Furthermore," the head of the Secret Service said, "your protective detail has been instructed that they are not your personal Praetorian Guard, they will continue to protect you and any visiting Heads of State, however they will kick down no more doors for you. You must rely on your two... (he gave Hope and Mercy a fulminating glare) ... 'special assistants' for those tasks."

Lex Luthor stood, crimson with anger, and screamed, "Fired! You're all fired!"

"We thought you'd say that," the Admiral in charge of the Defense Intelligence Agency said as he reached inside his uniform jacket to extract his ID folio. "I've already got my press release ready to send. Aren't you fortunate that Lois Lane is still in London?" He came to attention, saluted, then did a crisp about-face and dropped his ID on the coffee table in the middle of the room. One after another (some with service weapons), the heads of CIA, FBI, IRS and Secret Service followed suit. The agent by the door came to attention, holding the door as the five men filed out. Emotionlessly, he closed it with a soft 'click' and resumed his position of parade rest beside the door.

------------------------

"Well, this is a surprise," the head of the CIA said, spying the large man waiting outside the Oval Office. "Governor, my family and I have always liked your movies."

"Are you villing to move to Sacramento?" he joked. "I could use a few more friends zere," he added in his Bavarian accent, shaking hands. "Ve are here to zee the President regarding Fraulein Wayne und her embargo."

"Good luck," the Admiral said. "He's in a towering rage, he just fired all of us."

"_All_ of you?" the Governor of Massachusetts said in disbelief. "He just decapitated his security agencies?"

"Not all of them," the Marine General said. "As the head of the Joint Chiefs, the governors asked me along to provide a national security perspective."

"This is just wonderful," one of the secretaries complained. "My daughter just came home from Harvard. He's going to go through the staff again."

"If that happens, come to Providence," the Governor of tiny Rhode Island said. The Governor of Massachusetts added his card to hers, "Bahston. In-state tuition, and you'd be a state employee."

"Vhat can I add to that except... California," the large Governor said, adding his card to the shared pile. "Ze golden state, where a poor boy from Austria can grow up to be Governor."

"Ohio, of course," the Governor said, adding his card in.

"That reminds me," the former head of the Secret Service said. "I need to finish closing down that op in Columbus, one of the neighborhood groups was grandfathered in to Arrowhead before the embargo took effect. Pete, you want to come?"

"Going to Gotham," the former head of the FBI said, shaking his head. "If you'll extend my apologies to the Mortons, I'll pass on yours to the Waynes."

------------------------  
_**Monday, December 24, 2001:  
**__**Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Morton home: 14:26 (GMT-5)**__**  
**_------------------------

"I'll get it!" Elena called as the doorbell rang. She opened the front door to find an older man, late 40's, who smiled and said, "Hello. My name is Jim Morrison, can I talk to your parents?"

"Um, sure. Please, come in. May I take your coat?"

"Thank you, that's very kind," he replied, shrugging out of his coat and being ushered into the living room. After a few minutes, Bill and Maggie came in, Bill asking, "Mr. Morrison, what can I do for you?"

"It's more what I can do for you," he said, reaching in a jacket pocket. He passed over business cards, "I must ask you to keep this private, although you'll read about it tomorrow in the _Daily Planet_ and the _New York Times_. This morning, President Luthor fired me as head of the US Secret Service. Therefore, what I have to say is as a private citizen. However, Pete Townsend, who was Director of the FBI, as well as the heads of CIA, IRS and the Defense Intelligence Agency were also at that meeting, and were also fired by the President." He gave a slight smile, "The President has a habit of shooting the messenger, he is not the most pleasant person to work with."

Bill Morton shook himself, "Mr. Morrison, what does that have to do with us, unless it's the, um..."

"The spies living down the street," Maggie almost spat.

"Ah, yes," Jim said, reaching into his suit coat. He passed over a few folded sheets of paper, "They are being withdrawn. I apologize for showing you a copy of the fax, but as you can see, it has been countersigned by Pete and myself, and the acting directors. Our apologies for this breach of your civil rights, if you wish to file suit, I have requested the US Secret Service not to contest it, although they are no longer bound by my suggestions."

"What about the people?" Maggie said, looking up from the fax.

"The house technically belongs to the General Services Administration," Jim said. "I understand that several of the personnel want to buy in to your Grimaldi operation, I confess to temptation myself. That is up to them, I find myself, as Admiral Moore put it, 'on the beach', and will need to start job hunting." He waved that off, "I don't anticipate many problems," he said, brushing off his suit pants and standing.

"Where is Mr. Townsend?" Bill said, as he stood.

"Gotham, giving the same news to the Waynes," Jim said. He extended his hand, "Mr. Morton, Mrs. Morton, once again, my apologies, and for what it's worth, Merry Christmas."

------------------------  
_**Monday, December 24, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 13**__**: 20:20 (GMT)**__**  
**_------------------------

Filius checked the logging program on the laptop one last time before leaving the castle for Christmas. "Oh! Oh, my! They're off now, oh, this is exciting!" He did a little jig before leaving, "A day at five, another day at ten, then fifteen, and now twenty! I must ask, which star is 600 light years away." With an effort, he pulled himself away, casting various wards as he left.

"You are off for the Holidays, now, Filius?" Bellatrix asked. She glanced around, then said quietly, "Filius, I... I would like to apologize for any harm I brought to you, when I was..."

"When you were controlled by the Dark Lord?" Filius looked up at the taller witch, "I confess, I am having a difficult time forgiving some of your actions. The fact that you are willing to admit your responsibility is to your credit, as is your apology." He regarded her, "It will come. For now, I am glad to see you engaged in productive, useful study. The world needs more healers, Bella." He spied Severus emerging from the dungeons, "For now, have a pleasant and safe Holiday, and I look forward to seeing the both of you in January." He nodded and took his leave.

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, December 25, 2001:  
Gotham City**__**, Wayne Manor: 07:36 (GMT-5)  
**_------------------------

Tomas stopped on entering the parlor with the big tree, seeing Senor Kent gazing into the fire. Wrapping his robe tightly about him, he started to withdraw when the older man turned to look at him and smiled. "Good morning, Tomas," he said quietly. "Looking forward to Christmas morning? I always have." The boy nodded, and Clark stood, "Why don't we get the coffee going, the others are starting to wake up."

------------------------

"As Mattie is visiting her troops on Eunomia this Christmas, Tomas is serving as a proxy," Selina said, smiling at the boy and giving him a hug. "Would you do the honors?"

"Si," he said, checking a sheet that his sister had written out for him. "The first one is from Senor Griplink in London, to Senor and Senora Kent. There is a note inside," he added, handing over a small gold-foil wrapped box with the Gringotts 'G' logo stamped into it.

"I think this is actual gold," Lois said, and her husband nodded as she gently pulled at it, nothing so crude as tape holding it together, just intricately folded gold. In a small silver box was a long, delicate chain with a long fob. Lois held it up to admire as Clark cleared his throat, holding up the note:

_Mr. Kent, _

_I remember our discussion these many months ago, and how you wished to give your wife the gift of love, but restrained yourself in fear of her injury. How you both yearned for a child to love, but were unable to. The enclosed chain is the result of many months of research on my part, crafted in the finest goblin traditions. Simply wear it about your waist, and you will be able to give your wife that gift. Do not worry about damaging the chain, it is magically strengthened. _

_Best wishes,  
Griplink _

"Oh, that wonderful man," Lois said, sniffling a bit and wiping away a tear. Clark hugged his wife, and said, "He is, isn't he? I'll be sure to stop by and thank him." She replaced the chain in the box, passing it over for Sheila to examine as Tomas passed over another box, wrapped in a silver foil.

"This is from Senor Alfred and Senorita Cassidy, to the Kents," he said, checking his sheet.

"Tungsten foil," Clark said as Lois handed it to him. He saw four reddish light bulbs, and handed the note to Lois, who read:

_Aunt Lois and Uncle Clark: _

_I hope you'll forgive the presumption, but you are related to me through Mattie. These bulbs will fit into a 20__th__ century light socket, and will give you a M-class red-spectrum stellar output for about twenty minutes before burning out. If I remember my history correctly, that should give you two enough time to dock. Don't let Mattie see this note. Good luck!  
Cassidy Yates and Alfred Pennyworth_

"I'm sending her a note through Minerva," Clark said. "Do you get the feeling people are trying to drop hints?"

"Definitely," Lois said as the last package was handed over. "This is from Mattie," as a three-ring binder was unwrapped from simple brown paper tied with string. Her husband read:

_Aunt Lois and Uncle Clark: _

_This was our summer potion project. Unfortunately, we turned it in late, and wasn't able to do live tests, due to a lack of subjects. However, Professor Snape has verified it, and I've made arrangements with Blaise's apothecary to brew it upon your request. Simply go and ask for 'Wayne custom formulation #4', it's pre-paid, a two week lead time for brewing._

_Uncle Clark, you simply deposit your material in the flasks, they're magically reinforced and have stasis charms to keep the little guys happy. Aunt Lois, you simply take the potion when you start to ovulate. If you wish a boy, mix the blue with the primary potion, a girl the red additive. Both will get you twins, and random chance with no additive. This will enhance your inherent magic, Aunt Lois. Mix the material from both of you, I think you've got a Kryptonian artificial womb in the Fortress, and I'm looking forward to being an Auntie!  
Mattie_

"People are definitely making hints," Lois said dryly as Tomas moved on to Sheila.

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, December 25, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Morton home**__**: 07:48 (GMT-5)  
**_------------------------

"Finally, this is one I've been dreading," Arthur said, as his younger brother Bill handed him the last present. "Mattie passed this over, it's from Shiva." His father glanced at his wife as the paper was torn off. "Bill, could you get the chip reader Mattie loaned us?" As he ran upstairs, Arthur passed it around with the warning, "Don't touch it until we can read the instructions."

"It looks like a flashlight," Elena said, passing it to Teela. Bill thundered in, and Teela gently extracted the chip from the box, passing it over.

Arthur paged through the instructions, then looked up, "It's a light saber, alien tech. Don't put a finger across the lens, you'll lose it. Twist the lens to shorten or extend the blade, squeeze the grip to turn it on or off. There's no safety I see, it would be REAL easy to cut something off with this thing." He ejected the chip, and motioned for the device. Closing the box, he handed it to his dad, "Could you put this in the safe? What the hell was Shiva thinking with this thing?"

"We're not even going to try it? Not even once?" Bill said, disappointed.

------------------------  
_**Friday, December 28, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Morton home**__**: 23:16 (GMT-5)  
**_------------------------

Ring Ring

Bill Morton rolled over and grabbed the phone, "'Lo?" After a pause, he mumbled, "'S' ok. Um, quarter 'fter el'ven. 'Kay" Dropping the phone back in the base, he rolled back over.

"Wh?" Maggie mumbled.

"Wayne," he replied. "Just inna Canada, be by pick us up a' six." He grunted and shifted one of his pillows, "Onna planet."

His wife grunted, then shot up, "Pick us up at SIX?"

------------------------  
_**Saturday, December 29, 2001:  
Hogwarts**__**: 13:19 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"What is it?" Bill asked his son as Hagrid carefully carried the rack of equipment into the castle.

"It's an Arrowhead project, Dad, and I really can't tell you about it. Need-to-know and all that. Sorry," Arthur said. He watched Professor Sinestra be floated off at the tip of Madame Pomfrey's wand, "You know anything about that? It's not like her to get drunk."

He shook his head, "Sorry, no idea." He took a deep lungful of the cold, fresh Scottish air, then clapped his son on the back, "You have my cell number? I'll post my new London address to the Carson message board when I have it, and Becky will do the same with her Greywolf information." He clapped his son's back again, then went back inside the ship to help Julie with her bag.

------------------------  
_**Sunday, December 30, 2001:  
Hogsmeade train station**__**: 17:35 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Mattie waited as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, and the doors hissed open. As students spilled out, she stood on a bench and yelled, "Slytherin, over here! Slytherin, come over here!" She hopped down when Ami Bones asked, "How was your Christmas?"

"It was pretty good, even thought I went off planet."

"How did'st ... thou know'st work?" Anne Bundy asked.

"VERY well, we'll talk about it Thursday at the regular meeting with Professor Flitwick," she replied. "Professor Sinestra went, we'll talk about it." She raised her voice, "Is this everyone?"

"I think so," Kent said. "How was your Holiday?"

"Excellent, Professor Snape asked me to give you lot the new password before we go up for dinner, he'll change it tomorrow morning. Pass it back, now." She lowered her voice and said, '_Qodpot_'.

------------------------  
_**Monday, December 31, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Herbology class**__**: 09:03 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"Well, good morning to everyone, and welcome back to Hogwarts," Professor Sprout said. "I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas with family and friends, and I appreciate those of you who joined me last night to collect the Mooncalf dung." She gazed at a few people silently, and Bill shivered. She smiled again, "Mooncalf dung is one of the best magical fertilizers, particularly when you don't need the special properties of Dragon dung. Now, then, I want you to each take one of these Flitterbloom cuttings, go on, pass them down. You're going to tend these over the next month, so these will be in your dorm rooms, and the house elves have been specifically asked not to touch them. Once a week, you'll get five grams of dung from me, February fourth you'll bring them to class and be graded." She ignored the collective groan from the first-years, "Also, homework for next week, I want a two page essay on the comparison between magical and muggle fertilizers."

------------------------  
_**Monday, December 31, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Astronomy class**__**: 22:06 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome back to Hogwarts," Aurora told her class of first-years. "I hope everyone had a good holiday."

"Didn't you say you were going off planet for the Hols, Professor? Where did you go, and what was it like?" Warren asked.

"Different, Mr. Driver, different than I expected," she replied. With a silent mental command, she called up the solar system from the Oan gadget Miss Wayne had given her last year, and said, "We left Earth, and stopped at the Eunomia base here in the asteroid belt. From there, we made a speed run out to Beta Lyrae," and the galactic map shifted. "Now, we have the two stars orbiting each other, there is a third star here, and there is debate about this type F star over here, should it be included in the Lyrae system? If you notice it's orbital path..." she continued, trying not to think about a young girl with red hair and golden skin.

------------------------

A/N: Why is Sinestra drunk? What happened with the Sisal flight? What about Eddie and Shiva? 

Find out at my fictionpress account here: www DOT fictionpress DOT com / TILDE karanne (remove the spaces).


	13. Weeks 19 22, 1– 31 January, 2002

------------------------

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
13 – Weeks 19 - 22, 1– 31 January, Fourth Year  
------------------------  
_**Tuesday, January 1, 2002:  
London, Arrowhead Development, auditorium: 12:22 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

Mattie tapped on the podium's microphone, "We'll start this press conference in a few minutes, it will cover the previous year and upcoming 2002 for the Solar Guard and Arrowhead." she told the assembled newsies as they milled around, and the TV crews finished setting up. "For now, I'd like to mention that with the start of the new year, we are auditioning caterers for our press conferences, please let the participants know what you think. Your votes are a factor in deciding this, that's why we asked your food critics to come. In the interest of full disclosure, I'd like to add that Mrs. Weasley's Kitchen Witches company already has contracts with the Solar Guard and Greywolf Transport. Thank you." She stepped away from the podium, and started to work the room.

"First one you've been to?" Molly Weasley quietly asked her daughter-in-law, Fleur Delacour.

"Oui," she said.

"Just remember, dear, think muggle, and 'secret process'," Molly advised, before greeting the reporter from BBC 2 and discussing the chicken fingers.

Mattie turned from greeting a reporter from the _Sun_, to look up at a familiar face, "Ms. Durum. I hope you had a pleas..." when the thin reporter slapped her, cutting her cheek with her nails, "You little bitch! How dare you..." She stumbled to a stop when her arm was wrenched behind her back, Mr. Thompson saying, "Please tell me one of you blokes got that on tape."

"In the can, mate," the cameraman from News24 said.

"Good, will you come with me, my mate from the Yard will want to talk to you." The cameraman took his lens away from Miss Wayne, three parallel tracks of red on her cheek. She made her way over to Mrs. Weasley, putting some ice in a cloth napkin, then holding it to her cheek. Mrs. Weasley murmured, "Are you all right, dear?"

"Turning the other cheek isn't easy," she grinned, then winced. "Ow. I'll be all right, I'll have Madame Pomfrey look at it later," she replied softly. Making her way to the podium, she tapped the mike, "We'll be delayed a minute or two, anyone else with tape of the incident please talk to Mr. Thompson, my chief of security. I'll let the Metropolitan Police handle matters as they wish. Thank you." She held the icy napkin-ball to her cheek, and walked away, continuing to work the room. She didn't get far before she staggered and collapsed.

**------------------------**  
_**Wednesday, January 2, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Staff Room: 07:24 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"...that concludes old business," Minerva said. "Moving along, new business. Poppy, how is Miss Wayne?"

"Resting comfortably in St. Mary's Hospital in London," she replied. "The charges against her assailant have been upgraded to attempted capital murder, based on the toxin they found in her false nails. Miss Wayne will probably miss several days of school, her mother is with her." Poppy said.

"Good," Minerva admitted. "Filius, how is the project in Classroom 13 doing?"

"From perusing the logs, very well," he replied. "Unfortunately, I cannot go into more detail due to the security in place. Aurora went on that trip," he prodded.

Sinestra shook her head violently, putting her head back on her arms where they rested on the table. Hagrid rumbled, "P'haps Miss Wayne..."

"Nymphadora flooed me, she is working with knowledgeable muggles from Scotland Yard regarding this," Severus said. "Unfortunately, as an active investigation, that was all she could say, although she did suggest a wizarding bodyguard for Miss Wayne." His thin lips compressed, "Given her schedule, that would be difficult. Others have suggested it, she has resisted. I know there was a French attempt on her life during her marathon run in London last year, Miss Johnson and Miss Tonks were there, as was a witch from the German BND. At the very least, others recognize the danger, even if she does not." He took a sip of tea, "She is indeed her father's daughter."

**------------------------**  
_**Wednesday, January 2, 2002:  
Brixton (HM Prison), Interrogation Room #3: 10:18 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"Now then, Ms. Durum." The Constable said reasonably, sipping from a takeaway cup of tea, "I do hope you have enjoyed our hospitality so far." The loud slam of the steel door behind her made her cringe.

"Why are you being _nice_ to her?" her partner snarled. "She tried to murder someone! Someone the Crown has declared a 'Person of Interest'." He leaned forward, blowing smoke from his cig in her face. Durum raised her shackled wrists, trying to wave away the smoke, "Don't you know what tobacco farming does to the environment?" she demanded.

"Who cares?" the Sargent snarled, and Durum reacted as if she'd been slapped.

Behind the one-way glass, Durum's solicitor turned down the speaker, "Mutt and Jeff, Inspector?"

He shrugged, "Opening move, Lady Haversham. We need to find out more, who provided the toxin," as the speaker gave the Constable's reply, "Now, mate, haven't I been on you about the cigs?" The Sargent grumbled and tossed it in the half empty tea, where it hissed and floated. Durum had been eying the tea, now she shuddered and flinched away. Lady Haversham asked, "She has been fed, hasn't she?"

"Of course, strictly according to regs," the Inspector replied. "Probably not what she would be getting at home, there was no jam for her toast, but a nutritious breakfast nonetheless." They both turned back to the window, the tape recorder's reels slowly turning.

**------------------------**  
_**Thursday, January 3, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 13 (Sisal project): 17:15 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"So, how did the trip go, Professor? Tell us," Eleanor Branstone asked as she sat in a classroom chair with her plate from the room's buffet table, unfolding a napkin in her lap.

"Miss Wayne's uncle has the right of it," she replied with a shudder, "Kill them all. I've never seen such... amorality as a routine." She tented her hands over her face, "Unfortunately, we can't. We have to deal with them, we have to go out there and trade, and... and... interact with them. It's necessary to our survival." She sighed, dropping her hands, "I don't see how people can be so... blasé about it."

"About what?" Eleanor asked.

"Slaves," Aurora answered.

Filius cleared his throat, "I believe you and Miss Wayne recorded your walkabout? May we see it?"

------------------------

"This is on board a large station in the Beta Lyrae system, 890 light years away," Aurora said a few minutes later. "I've muted the audio so I can comment, notice the passing life forms," she added. After they had bought their water, she restored the audio, sitting back silently.

After Aurora had made her recorded comment, Professor Snape said, "I agree, they do not seem mistreated, for slaves."

As Aurora gave a hollow laugh, Anne snorted, Harry Spencer reaching over to take her hand. "Prithee watch, and learn," she said.

"The different forms of life..." Filius squeaked, as they entered the weapons shop. As they followed the shop slave, Aurora said, "I can still smell that place," and covered her eyes. Seconds later, Eleanor leaned forward and vomited on the floor, followed a few seconds later, after an internal struggle, by Filius. Severus managed to conjure a bucket in time. Others weren't so lucky, as Anne moved against the wall, out of 'splash range'.

"_NOW_ doth you see why we feel anon slaves?" Anne asked.

"Oh, god," Arthur (one of the few to hold his dinner) said, "We're going _there_ this summer?"

"I doth not know," Anne replied. "'Tis possibly another world," she said, walking over to stop the playback. Eleanor asked, "What happened to the girl?"

"I bought her," Aurora replied, a hollow sound to her voice. "Just her, she's in a resettlement program. I wanted to buy the others, but... "

"We cannot buy every slave in the galaxy," Harry Spencer said quietly, casting '_Evanesco_' on the floor. "And yet, we cannot become isolationist, burying our head in the sand. It would not be safe. No, we must gird ourselves, preparing ourselves as best we might, and sally forth, hoping that we might eventually eliminate this disease." He tented his fingers in thought, "Might I borrow a copy to show to my family, including Gran?" he asked.

Aurora waved her hand, "One reason we recorded it was for training."

**------------------------**  
_**Saturday, January 5, 2002:  
London, St. Mary's Hospital, Children's floor: 08:53 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"I'm missing the game, and I hate this room," Mattie said, looking up from her laptop.

"The décor?" Selina teased, referring to the cute wallpaper of bunnies and fauns gamboling through an idyllic pasture. "You are only thirteen, dear, and I'm sure that Arthur will let you know who won."

"The only reason Arthur's going is that his brother and sister are playing, and he could care less about Quidditch. He's basketball, his email said that his dad came up from London with Dick."

"I'm sure there's someone in Hufflepuff that can explain Chasers and such to Bill," Selina said, greatly amused. "In the meantime, you, young lady, are inordinately stressed and in need of rest." She eyed her daughter, "If you were a few years older, I'd say you need to get laid."

"MOTHER!"

"Don't you 'mother' me, Helena Martha. You're no nun, and I know you've slept with Arthur." She pushed her own laptop aside, "I also know you haven't had sex yet, which Father Tim was most relieved to know." Her daughter groaned, flopping backward and covering her face with a pillow. "What I wanted to know is how you got caught by a reporter wearing fake nails."

"She wasn't supposed to be there," the reply came from under the pillow. "She was using someone else's credentials, when I recognized her, I expected her to yell at me, not take a swing at me." The pillow lowered, "I was in the middle of a press conference, I couldn't exactly use a judo throw on her, and it was just a slap, I thought. Worth it if I could eliminate the problem." She eyed her mother, "Don't change the subject. Arthur has been threatened by every male I've introduced him to, including Uncle Perry."

"Speaking of Perry White, I understand he knows what your great mysterious purpose is, and I, your own mother, doesn't."

"He guessed, and stop trying to influence, mother, you still don't have need to know." Mattie sighed, and leaned forward, "If you can do something with Luthor, though, that would help." She eyed her mother, then motioned her forward, "Let me whisper it to you, though." She leaned forward, then stopped, turning to the door as a nurse came in, pushing a small cart, and with a chipper smile, "Hallo there, love, time for your meds." She put a small paper cup of pills in Mattie's hand, and poured her a glass of water, while taking a hypodermic needle and preparing to insert it in the port in her IV line.

"Just a minute," Selina said. "What are you putting in her IV?"

"A tranquilizer, love, go on, take your meds," the nurse said.

"Don't take those," Selina said to her daughter, reaching over and plucking the needle from the nurse. "You're not the normal nurse, and I wasn't informed of any medication changes. GUARD!" She twisted the nurse's arm into a half nelson, "In addition, Cheri said she's on this same shift all week when I asked her yesterday, and," she inspected the hypodermic as the guard entered, "That dosage of morphine would certainly relax my daughter into an empty grave." She addressed the bloke from SO1, "How did she get in?"

"She had the proper ID, ma'am," the policeman said. "Would you release her, please, we'll have a look at the situation."

"Look all you want," Selina snapped. "I'm taking my daughter out of here, now."

**------------------------**  
_**Sunday, January 6, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 10:06 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

Mattie yawned and stretched, the grey werewolf lying on the next bed lifted her head as her best mate rolled over and went back to sleep. Sprink licked her chops, then went back to sleep herself.

------------------------

"I don't NEED a bodyguard!"

"Yes, you do, mate," Sprink said stubbornly. "We've got it all worked out. I go with you to London, then I go down the street to my shop while my sister and Kingsley cover you here. They're teaming up with their muggle copper mates if you need to go out somewhere." She popped into a wolf, resting her head on Mattie's chest and giving her friend soulful eyes.

"You flea-bitten cur, you have the worst case of puppy-dog eyes I've ever seen," Mattie chuckled. Sprink threw in a whine, and Mattie rubbed her head. "If I take a bodyguard, then that's the first step on my actually becoming a Queen, you see," she confided. Sprink whimpered, licking her lips and continuing her mournful gaze. She blinked, then threw herself off the bed, between the hanging privacy screens. Mattie heard Dick's voice addressing her, she trotted back in, jumping up on the neighbouring bed as Dick called, "You decent?"

"Like it's stopped you before," she said as he entered, accepting a hug and some flowers. He took a seat on the end of her bed, "How ya doing, short stuff?"

"Dreading the homework," she replied, and Sprink snorted. Dick eyed her, asking "Minute?" She 'whoofed' and trotted out, he asked, "How ya really doing?"

"The Bat-stuff is out. I just don't have time, and London isn't Gotham," she mused. Looking at her brother, she confided, "I really don't want a bodyguard, I mean, part of this is to meet regular people, and I can't do that if I'm surrounded by battalions of security troops. It's the first step on my becoming an actual... (she shuddered) Queen."

"You almost cashed it in, short stuff," her brother replied. "Selina was ready to lock you in the Cave at one point. Still," he sighed, "I see what you mean. But can you get it through that thick skull that there are people who actually care if you live or die? Are you at least willing to compromise? Accept some security?"

"It would have to be some sort of wizarding security, that's also acceptable to Mr. Thompson and the muggle side of the house," she looked up at her older brother. "One, maybe two, and discreet."

Dick leaned forward to give her another hug. "Discretion is my middle name."

"Yah, right."

"Hey, I brought up _important_ things first," he protested. Pulling a magazine from his jacket, he said, "Thought you'd like to read about world events and stuff."

"_Person of the Year_," she read aloud, "Figures New York's mayor would be on the cover."

"Hey, they considered a bunch of other people, like Luthor," Dick said. "They didn't even kiss his butt _too_ much. Read the article, short stuff, it's interesting." He mussed her hair, "I'm gonna go downstairs, see if I can get something to eat."

"Not lunch time yet," she objected, tossing the magazine on the bed. Raising her voice, she called, "Sprink?"

The girl poked her head around the curtain, "Wot?"

"Could you show my brother how to sneak into the kitchen?"

The werewolf nodded, "I'm a bit peckish myself, no worries." She spied the magazine, "Ooh, '_Person of the Year_'. May I?" At Mattie's nod, she tucked it under her arm, Dick smirking for some reason and waving to her, "Later, short stuff."

------------------------

"She doesn't know?"

Shaking his head, Dick swallowed, chasing the bite of sandwich with a gulp of milk. "Don't think so, she's been kinda isolated here, and it's not like you get news magazines."

"We get the Intarweb-thingie!" Sprink protested, then grinned. "I'm thinking of a prank..."

"If it helps, her father Bruce was never nominated," Dick said. "Keep her from getting a swelled head, would you? I've got to get back to London."

**------------------------**  
_**Thursday, January 10, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 13 (Sisal project): 17:12 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"Good to see you back, Miss Wayne, but where is Mr. Morton?" Professor Snape asked as he finished filling his plate from the buffet.

"He had something to ask Professor Flitwick," she replied, setting her bag down in an un-occupied seat. Drawing her wand, she cast a cleaning charm on her hands. "I expect him to be along shortly, it was something to do with his family." She took a plate herself and started down the buffet.

"You two are usually attached at the hip, I wondered," he mused, munching on a carrot. She looked over at him as she set down her plate to pour some ice water, "We're not that bad, are we?"

"No more than other young couples I have seen," he replied. "In any case, as he has an adequate excuse, I suppose we can make an exception for his tardiness this one time."

------------------------

"Had a thought," Charlie said. "We need to let people know what we're up against, and I thought we could let out your video as a 'leak' from Arrowhead. I've a short clip that I worked up along those lines." He walked over to his bag, extracted his laptop and booted it. As it was doing so, he connected the projector, asking, "Will someone bring down the light?"

The video started with a short disclaimer, pronouncing it an 'Internal training video' of Arrowhead and the Solar Guard, then identifying the persons:

Edward Nigma  
Alfred Pennyworth  
Aurora Sinestra  
Martha Wayne

After that, it dissolved into an approach video of the stars, docking, and the initial stages of the walkabout up to the entrance to the weapons shop. Mattie said, "Stop the video, please."

Charlie did so, "You don't want to see it again, I understand."

"_**I**_ don't want to see it again," Aurora said. "That's not the point. I haven't given my permission for my name or my image to be used in this manner, nor I think have any of the others."

"Charlie, while it's well done, I have several questions about how you obtained what you did," Mattie continued. "First, the approach video, secondly my Uncle Eddie's name, third that you're using my companies' logo and trademarks without permission." She smiled, "I certainly haven't signed a release or contract that would allow you to release it to the web. Lastly, have you thought that it would cause a xenophobic reaction among those aliens that are living here? It's not just people like Superman or the Manhunter, but what about those repatriated slaves that are trying to fit in, adjusting to a new world?"

"And this new thing called 'freedom'," Aurora said. "I agree, it's very well done, Mr. Adams, but we're going to have to be careful in releasing it. A copy to Mr. Spencer's rellies is one thing, they can be trusted not to over-react." She shook her head, "No, if you release it, you're going to cause an enormous amount of trouble, not just for yourself, but also for whomever you release it to, and worst off, to those refugees."

"Damn," Charlie said.

"I'm not going to mention this to my Uncle Eddie, he wouldn't take it nearly this well." Mattie said, and Arthur gave a snort of agreement. She continued, "How did you get the approach video?"

"Your brother Dick gave me Alfred's email address," Charlie confessed.

"I'll have to thump him one, then," she answered. "I'm sorry, I'll have to ask you to delete the video, please, Charlie."

"Interested in a part-time job?" Sprink asked. "We've got a bloody ton of training vids and whatnot to get out, you could work with me at Greywolf."

"I believe I can speak for Professor Sprout when I say, 'Not until your marks improve, Mr. Adams,'" Professor Snape said. "I will raise the suggestion with her, and let her decide. However, while I can also admire your skill in production, I would also suggest you delete the file."

"Damn," Charlie said again, as he deleted the file.

"Empty the trash, please, Charlie," Mattie said, as Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. "The video and the associated ... unpleasantness aside, I had some questions regarding your trip, please."

**------------------------**  
_**Tuesday, January 15, 2002:  
London, Arrowhead Development, Auditorium: 12:21 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

Mattie tapped the microphone, "We'll get this going in a few minutes," she told the newsies who once again filled the room. She stepped down from the podium, working her way through the room.

"You're looking better," the GNN reporter said. "I notice you've got new friends," she added.

"Yes, this is Crystal, and this distinguished older fellow is Eric," Miss Wayne replied. "My security chief put his foot down, along with the Yard and SO1," she scratched behind Crystal's ears, the large brindle wolf put back her head in pleasure, her tongue lolling out. The reporter put out her hand, Eric eyed it, then permitted her to scratch his head, his long red tongue licking his grey muzzle. "I believe they're from the RAF, but don't hold me to that," Miss Wayne said. "Whenever I go out in public, I'm supposed to have at least one with me. They even have a company ID," she added, fingering Crystal's hanging from her neck. She glanced at the clock, "Shall we?"

Moving back to the podium, she tapped the microphone again, "If everyone's eaten, we'll get started." She waited for the newsies to find their seats, "As you may have noticed, I've gotten a couple of new companions, they'll be with me whenever I'm in public. This is Crystal (who stood, forepaws on the table and gave a wolfish smile), and Eric is to my left. Now, I'm sure that you'd like to know what's happening with the investigation, I'm sorry to say I don't know. It's an ongoing criminal case, even if I knew, I'd still have to refer you to the Metropolitan Police."

She stopped for a minute, then cleared her throat, "Crystal, if you want to operate the laptop, you can." The wolf looked up from her investigation of the equipment as the newsies laughed, and Mattie rubbed her head. She gave a lupine grin, 'woofed' and sat as Miss Wayne cleared her throat. "This is the slightly delayed report covering last year, and what's in store for 2002. Let's start with low orbit and the two LEO stations. As you know, we now have several hundred people living and working in space. I'm also pleased to announce the first private firms in orbit and on the moon, we have a Polish company that is doing custom modifications of Greywolf's kanal-class ships, and we have a Belorussian company that is extracting products made of basalt on the moon." She shifted, "As you know, self-sufficiency is a goal, to that end, basaltic fibers can not only be used for electrical insulation, but also for insulation without the problems of asbestos."

She touched the laptop, moving to the next slide, "Expansion of the LEO platform. As you can see, there are several decks to the platform, but only two docking bays for the planetary shuttles. The orbital shuttles, on the other hand, use a different arrangement, which has meant delays in clearing shipments. We will therefore be adding two more bays, we hope to have basic tourism up and running soon. Ticket prices will hopefully be something close to current freight rates to orbit."

"What are those rates?" someone called.

"Currently, it's about $100 to put something on a planetary shuttle, which covers port fees, taxes, and so forth," she replied. "Shipping an item, pressurized, to LEO is currently $50 per kilo, as you may remember NASA is charging $10,000 a kilo. Therefore, using me as an example, I weigh 43 kilos, so my ticket, again using freight rates, not passenger, would be about $2300." She let the buzz die down, "Once again, these are freight rates, passenger rates would be different. We also have to have the infrastructure built up, the hotels and golf courses, and yes, there are tentative plans for a lunar golf course, the Alan Shepard Memorial." She grinned, "I'm not that good of a golfer myself, but... anyway, costs to ship equipment from point to point once you're at LEO is much less, primarily relating to fuel and time. I'll take questions later. Moving up and out, in GEO orbit..."

------------------------

"Miss Wayne, I'd like to return to the mention of a lunar golf course," one reporter asked. "What can you tell us about it?"

Mattie cleared her throat, "First of all, it is very tentative, blue sky, back of the envelope planning. This is the 'beer and pizza' level of planning, is that understood?" She waited for the reporter to nod, then continued, "The current consensus is to have it in one of the smaller lunar maria like Felicitatus, ninety kilometers or so across. They would dome each hole, and have an underground entrance at the tee and at the cup, with perhaps three levels of difficulty per hole. I'm sure you understand that building a single dome a hundred kilometers across would be... difficult. Personally, I think it would be more of a desert, sandy course, as water is expensive on the moon, we have to manufacture it. In any event, I doubt it will happen soon, although I'd like to give it a try myself. Right now, we have to concentrate on building things like space stations instead of golf courses."

------------------------

"Miss Wayne, Carla Ferrero, _Home and Garden Living_. I'd like to ask you what the accommodations are like in the stations."

"Certainly, Ms. Ferrero. Unfortunately, it's not in this presentation, but if you and anyone else interested will leave their card, we'll get you the information." She shifted, "The designs I've seen are three different styles, if you will. I guess you'd characterize them as 'dorm room', 'hotel room', a step up from the dorm, and 'terrace apartment'. The first two have a common factor, that of a communal mess hall, the difference between them is the 'dorm' (she finger-quoted) is more of a very transitory quarters, with communal showers and so forth. Right now, as the stations are being built, the construction crews are living in these facilities, which are in the zero-gee areas of the station. As a great many of the crews are, um, 'differently abled' (she finger-quoted again), with missing limbs, spinal injuries and so forth, this is best for them." She added after a moment's thought, "There are a lot of military veterans, I think we've actually got a couple from World War Two."

"How do they eat, bathe, and so forth?" Carla asked.

"I'll see if I can describe the plans I've seen. However, I'm not a professional writer, like you are," she said, and grinned. She paused for a minute in thought, then took a step out from behind the podium, "All right, I think I've got it. The shower stalls are actually cubicals, about two meters across. That's all you really need, so you've got this aqua-colored tile that you're floating in front of."

Carla asked, "Why a cube?"

"You don't really need any more, there's no need to stand, and there's no gravity. Think of when you were a kid, and you were playing in a swimming pool, you could curl up and scrunch around." She gave kind of a wistful smile, then shook herself. "Anyway, in zero-gee, water and other fluids form a sphere. You go in, set your temperature on a waterproof control panel, soap up, and you hit a button to get a spray of water ejected. You spin yourself in the spray to rinse instead of standing under a stream of water like you do here, and then do a hand-stand over the 'floor' where the controls are. A small gravity field is set, not much, only a tenth-gee, but it's enough to drain the water." Mattie finished with her hands, "You dry off, and get dressed."

"I assume the water is recycled somehow," someone asked.

"Oh, yes," Mattie said. "We also supply the soap and shampoo, unless someone wants to bring their own. There's an approved list, the reason for that is to aid the water recycling systems. They're pretty much the same ones you can buy in a health-food store, or other 'green' supplier." She held up a glass of water before taking a long drink and clearing her throat. "Why pay part of your mass up for a bottle of shampoo, when it's supplied?" She took another drink, then held up the icy glass, "There's actually three different water systems, a 'white' for clean or fresh water, which is certified and treated for cooking and drinking and so forth, then there's a 'gray' and a 'black' water system." She added hastily, "By the way, those are industry terms, not mine. Anyway, the black water is, er, _biological_ waste water..."

"Delicately put..." someone added, and people chuckled.

"Yes..." she said, "Thank you. In any case, the... black water is... treated, let's say..."

"No need for further expansion," someone else said.

"Yes, thank you. In any case, the treated water is then considered gray water, where it is used for irrigating plants and in the hydroponic beds. The outflow from the fish farms is also considered gray water."

"How is the clean water resupplied?"

"My understanding is that it is resupplied from atmospheric moisture, as well as other sources. The water is converted to steam, distilled, sterilized and treated, we have quality control inspectors from the Crown as well as the medical department examining the quality."

Ms. Ferrero recaptured her question, "What about eating?"

"Well, eating is a bit different. The people aboard NASA's space station may like eating stuff with the consistency of peanut butter, but I wouldn't." Someone said, "Here, here."

"The problem is two-fold," Mattie said. "Our people are used to working in zero-gee, and let me tell you, a zero-gee hammock is the most comfortable bed imaginable."

"No good for sex, though," someone added to a general guffaw.

"I wouldn't know," Mattie said. "I plan to wait for a proper wedding night, although how he's going to get me over a zero-gee threshold..." she grinned as people laughed.

"Anyway," she continued, "the problem of eating. If you think about it, a lot of cooking is moving quantities of liquids around, and making sure the food stays where you want it. I'm sure everyone here has cooked spaghetti, there's lots of hot, boiling water, and sauces, and things like browning meat. Now, what NASA does is cook it on Earth, and package it so that spaghetti comes in this plastic package, complete with sauce and a carefully controlled dash of Parmesan cheese. Peel back the top, stick it in a microwave, break off a plastic spoon, and open a sippy-cup of drink." She threw up her hands, "We've taken these highly trained engineers and scientists and reduced them to kindergarten, complete with scheduled naps!"

She waited for the assembled newsies to settle down, then reached over and removed the microphone from the podium to walk around. "The best solution we have right now is for a limited gravity field in and around the dining room and the kitchens. That keeps soup in the bowls and drinks in a glass, and for those with four working limbs, it's not a real problem. However, for our people with injuries, we have to make other arrangements."

She walked around a bit more, "I'll take the example of someone with a spinal injury, like my Aunt Barbara. In the zero-gee parts of the station, she would float around, like she does at work. When she wants to eat, she goes to the dining room, which is in low gravity, and she'd would borrow a communal wheelchair to eat, socialize, play cards and so forth. In the 'wheelchair' section (she finger-quoted) it's very low gravity, tenth-gee, which is enough to help get you in and out of the chair. It increases to third-gee as you move along." She grinned, "I'd really like to thank the veteran's organizations and disabled groups, they were a great help in the design phase, and as I mentioned, we have a lot of people working and living in space."

"What about the hotel rooms and garden apartments?" someone else asked.

"The hotel rooms are also in zero-gee, they're just several rooms, designed for family quarters, with their own bathing facilities," she replied. "They also use the communal dining areas. We were hesitant about having families with kids," she said. "Still, several insisted, and they have made the place more like a community. We do have several teachers, both professional and volunteer, and the curriculum is the British at-home schooling, so they do get an official examinations and a diploma."

She flipped through several slides, stopping at an over-view of a station. "As you can see, the stations have three 'spokes' leading to the wheels. On the smaller stations in L4 and L5, the spokes are just big enough for one freight and two passenger elevators." Her finger moved into the light from the projector, "On the big L1 station, the torus, the wheel, is seventy-five meters in diameter, with a tram hanging from the roof. There's an elevator lobby there, where you can catch the tram to go from section to section, the spoke just continues down to the base, where things like water treatment, sewage, and barnyards are tucked away against the outer hull."

Another reporter asked, "There's a lot of glass, what if a window breaks?"

"It's leaded glass, by the way," she replied. "There's a lot of silicon on the moon, we're importing it as glass sheets. Once the mass launcher is operational, we won't have to lift materials off with shuttles, which will bring the cost down tremendously." She grinned, "To answer the question, if a window breaks, either through a micro-meteoroid or through a fly ball, the air pressure and volume is such that it won't cause a catastrophic failure, people getting sucked out like the pulp fiction from the 1950's has it. Each pane of glass is three meters on a side, and there are robots that run along the tracks that support the glass, scanning for these breaks. If they find a hole, the have a transponder plug they stick on it, they spray a quick-sealant on it, and move on. A repair crew then comes out, sets up a temporary pressure tent, and replaces the glass. There's a similar set of bots that cover the hull and spokes, and there are enough bots to cover all the surface within three days."

She took a drink of water, clearing her throat, "We've wandered off the question. The terrace apartments are built against the curve of the hull, so you might have three or four levels with maybe a dozen neighbors, and they are designed to be wheelchair accessible and friendly. There's a lot of landscaping planned, which helps in both the food supply and recycling the atmosphere, so a garden apartment would be a better description. Each section is its own small town, if you will. L4 and L5 are primarily construction crews, we figure they might have a total population of about 2400 or so. That's roughly eight hundred people in your town, with gardens, schools, parks, cooks, everything that makes up a small town. You'd know those people, they're your neighbors, it doesn't matter if they're originally from Columbus, or Berlin, or Moscow. If your son falls out of the tree he's climbing and breaks his arm, you take him to Dr. Sanchez in the village, just like you'd see Dr. Montoya, the dentist in the next office for your daughter's toothache, and who is going to scold you for not flossing." She shrugged as people chuckled, grinning, "Medical care is part of the taxes I pay to the Crown as your employer, and which you have deducted from your pay. Dr. Sanchez is also your neighbor three doors down, with the prize orchids. If you're like my boyfriend, who has a black thumb for flowers, you'll trade him, Dr. Sanchez that is, a fresh pie for a rescue of your petunias."

People grinned and nodded as she said, "That's what neighbors do. If you want to go out to eat, for instance, you can go another few hundred meters to a restaurant in the next town, or for a long weekend, you might go with your husband or wife to L1. Commuting is about eight hours between them, to Luna or back to Earth."

"Sounds idyllic," someone said.

Mattie grinned, "We're not fool enough to try to dictate how people live. All we ask is that you get along with your neighbors, which most people will. If you're a strict vegetarian, that's fine. If you have particular religious views, that's fine too. If you want to get together people with similar views, there's lots and lots of places to set up, we'll be happy to sell you the equipment to do so."

"You mentioned L1, what about it?"

"L1 is the tourist location, its spun quickly enough to give a full gravity," she replied. "L1 is also ... "

**------------------------**  
_**Wednesday, January 23, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Ravenclaw table: 17:57 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"Amy, you're going to have to make a public announcement, either you or Sprink."

Amy's face was pale, "Couldn't you do it?"

"It's a Greywolf announcement, guys," Mattie said. "C'mon, this is a big thing, the launch of your first private spaceship, a contract with DHL, and the Guard issuing a contract for system defense corvettes to test? This is very big news, it properly rates three press conferences, and it's not something I can do." She looked over at her roomie, "What's the big deal, they won't eat you."

"It's... well, I'm scared stiff," Amy admitted. "All those people, y'know."

"Ah. Fear of public speaking, of embarrassment," Mattie nodded, "I know it well, I got the same thing when someone told me to go home and play with my dollies. I felt humiliated." Both Amy and Sprink nodded, "Okay. Everyone has a different trick they use, some people imagine everyone in the room naked. Me, I won't be humiliated if a reporter catches me out, I'll have an answer." She leaned forward, "It may not be an answer they like, and I may have to promise to get back to them with more information, but it's an answer, and, AND, I always get back to them. I keep my word to them, they know they'll get an honest answer, unlike too many PR flacks and government spin doctors. I channel that humiliation into preparation."

"You feed them too," Sprink said, and Mattie waved that off, "That comes out of the public relations budget, and it gets them in a better mood. While it helps, it's not going to save me in the event of a major screw-up." She put elbows on the table, "You both speak up in class, how is this different?"

"That's... class," Amy replied. "I've known them all for years, and it's just answering a question."

"Yes, how is this different?" Mattie asked. "The newsies are looking for answers to their questions, like Professor Snape. You know the answers, so if I ask you what the rated capacity of the reactor of the Kanal class is, you'd answer?"

"Variable between fifteen and fifty-five megawatts," Amy replied, Sprink adding, "Depending on intended usage, for buoy placement..." she shook her head. "Still... those cameras..."

"The camera adds fifteen pounds," Mattie said. "You fix that with either makeup, clothing or diet, and makeup for TV looks hideous in reality, because the camera distorts it, it's not makeup like you'd wear on a date. Get two or three business suits that make you look slimmer and taller than you are, I get mine from Parv and Lav's shop in Diagon Alley. Tell them I sent you, and don't worry about the cost, it's a business expense, you deduct it. That's not the main problem. You both need to build your confidence." She tented her fingers in thought, then said, "Be right back," and strode up to the High Table, where she held a conversation with Professors Flitwick and Snape.

Getting their agreement, she returned to where the two girls were sitting, "Amy, go change into one of your muggle business suits. Sprink, you do the same. We are going to have a press conference at six thirty in Classroom 13 where you two are going to practice. Amy, who else is in your study group?"

"Chang Li is," she replied, pointing out the Chinese girl.

"Good, I'll talk to her, now shoo, go change." Sprink moved off too, as Mattie leaned over to talk to her own study group.

------------------------

"Here's the situation," Mattie said under a privacy spell. "Amy and Sprink need to get their confidence boosted in relation to a press conference. We," she waved her finger, "are reporters. We will ask questions, get answers, and if we detect a weakness or hesitancy, we will pounce. We won't be mean, but we won't back down either. You've seen my press conferences on telly, we are not only looking for a good story, but an 'angle' to sell it to our editors and readers. That includes, if possible, a nice juicy quote." She looked over at Harry Spencer, who grinned, "Nice to be on the other side for a change."

"Oh, yeah," she agreed. Looking at Charlie, she said, "You are the cameramen, you will keep them in focus, and we'll play it back later on the wide screen TV Professor Snape levitated up from our common room."

"I'm a little jealous of that," Richard Clausen said. "I wish we had one in Gryffindor."

"One of many Slytherin secrets," Mattie said. "Remember, a wide variety of publications get into these things, all with their own angle. Harry here could be from... Corgi Lover's Weekly." She grinned at his face. "I'll go see how our two sacrificial wolves are doing," and Professor Snape banished the privacy spell with a smirk.

------------------------

"Okay, you two, here's the deal," Mattie said. "First, I am not here. This is Greywolf, the only relationship this has to the Guard or Arrowhead is in relation to contracts. Anything else, refer it to them, or to Miss Wayne."

"But that's you, mate," Sprink said.

"No, that's Ms. Martha Wayne, CEO of Arrowhead and Damiyo of the Solar Guard. She's not here, but her relative, Helen Grayson, the reporter is. Understood?" Sprink still looked confused, and Mattie continued, "Second, this show gets underway at six thirty on the dot. We'll go for at least half an hour, then play it back and critique it. Third, and most important, do not, under any circumstances, lose your cool." She gave a smile, "Ready? Open the conference at six thirty, and there are no time outs."

------------------------

"Next question, how about Mr. Morton?" Amy said.

Arthur stood, "Arthur Morton, _Pittsburgh Post-Gazette_. You've mentioned the first ship will be a buoy tender, what other modifications are available for the Kanal Class, and how many have been sold?"

"Currently we have inquiries for six ships, including one with an extended family section," Amy replied. "We have firm orders for twelve ships, and are awaiting financing on three others."

Sprink leaned forward, "While we don't do the modifications ourselves, we understand that three of them are mining ships of one form or another, including one looking at Ceres." She grinned, "All that ice water, don't y'know."

"I was under the impression Ceres was carbon dioxide ices," Professor Snape said, standing.

"That's the Martian poles, and you are, sir?" Amy asked.

"Severus Snape, _Chemistry Weekly_," he answered. "Who is looking at mining Ceres, and have they staked a claim?"

"That would be Mr. Grayson, and I don't know about his claims."

"What can you tell us about those mining ships?" Mattie asked.

"They're a stock Kanal - class ship, modified with a boring machine and extended food storage and recycling," Sprink started to natter excitedly, when Professor Flitwick said, "I think that's enough. What can we learn from this?"

"Do not reveal your clients' names or plans," Harry Spencer said.

"Especially without their permission, like Mr. Grayson," Arthur put in. "Do we have a competitor?" he asked Mattie.

"Not that I know, ask Amy or Sprink," she replied.

"Now, this is how to answer a question without revealing information," Professor Snape said. "It retains the possibility of a competitor to Mr. Morton's lunar claim. It is his business to discover who, if anyone is in competition. Meanwhile, we know of at least three mining claimants, the question is where they are mining."

"You have to balance what information you reveal," Mattie said. "You don't know if my brother has claimed all or part of Ceres, just like you don't know who's mining where. You could have mentioned a promotion on asteroid mining kit, for instance, or that you knew of a premium price on type C asteroids. Also, you didn't mention one word on the DHL or Guard contracts for the corvettes."

"What contracts?" Professor Snape asked.

"The Solar Guard filed a contract for the construction and testing of three armed corvettes, for system scouting and patrol duties," Mattie replied. "These are our first home-grown warships, and yet there's not a peep out of these two. As a taxpayer, I'd like to know about it. BAE or General Dynamics would have issued a press release, followed by a press conference, with sketches, models, and information on their web sites. When they christened, that would have been another media event, as well as tours of the building slips and dockyard." She sighed theatrically, "Here I _try_ to make you blokes money..."

**------------------------**  
_**Sunday, January 27, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff dorms: 07:21 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"Charlie, you're a good friend, but I gotta say, you're way off on this," Arthur said as he dried himself in the shower.

His friend's reply was muffled somewhat by the towel over his head, "But we're playing Slytherin..."

Securing his towel around his waist, Arthur reached out to yank down Charlie's towel, "It's a god-damn _game_, Charlie! So what if our respective girlfriends are playing for the other house?" He shook his head, "I swear, I've been here four years, and I still don't understand some things about you Brits."

"You're too egalitarian, mate," Charlie replied, snatching back his towel and resuming his drying-off.

"This is wrong – how?" Arthur asked. "Hell, if any one of us could claim class distinctions, it's Mattie. You know her, has she? You've seen her cubicle at work – no larger than any other, have you seen her putting on airs?" He adjusted his towel, which was starting to slip, "Anne's another good example, she's dating a royal, she's a titled noble, for God's sake, and she was the first person to congratulate Harry Spencer on his game." He tried to re-secure his towel and gave up, twirling it into a rope. Snapping it at Charlie, "Having a fight with Sprink over Quidditch is just damn stupid. You need to apologize to her, she's the best thing to happen to you. Now hurry up and get dressed, we'll sneak down to the greenhouses so you can steal a flower."

Twirling his own towel, "How would you know, mate?"

"Hello, four sisters?" Arthur asked, catching Charlie's towel. "You didn't notice how the girls in this house were avoiding you? House loyalty is one thing, but..."

"I thought it was something from Snape's last class..." Charlie replied, yanking his towel back.

**------------------------**  
_**Thursday, January 31, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 13 (Sisal project): 17:18 (GMT)**_  
**------------------------**

"I had a question for you lot," Mattie mentioned. She grinned, "Someone said I had a kitchen cabinet, and, well... I don't have a kitchen, but you all are pretty good for advice."

"Is this in relation to..." Professor Flitwick squeaked, putting down his chicken leg and motioning behind him to the Sisal communication unit.

"No, it's actually in regard to my being a landlord," she replied. "One of the questions from my last press conference was in regard to people's civil rights in regard to company housing, which the stations are."

"They have to be able to breathe and eat before they vote," Harry Spencer said. "I would make that a pre-condition for granting any sort of franchise."

"Makes sense," Charlie said. "I'd increase that to, say, ninety days reserve of food, water, and air for the population." He gave Sprink's hand a squeeze, "They should be able to stockpile that fairly easily."

"Canned and preserved as well as fresh," Professor Snape added in. "After that, then what?"

Arthur said, "A referendum, an election to see if they want it. I would suggest those over fifteen, with a quorum of three-quarters of the registered residents. Something this important, you don't want the usual 'fifty percent plus one'. The resolution has to pass by 75 percent or better."

"Basic rights and responsibilities," Eleanor said. "They have a right to basic food, water, shelter, air, transport and comms. Anything fancier they have to pay for. Everyone has to take responsibility for their own actions. If you open an airlock to space and kill everyone in the compartment, it's not the station's responsibility, it's yours. There's a corporate responsibility to keep things in proper repair, and to make things, well, not idiot-proof, but..."

"One cannot make things idiot-proof," Professor Snape commented. "Many years of teaching dunderheads has firmly convinced me of that. You will just encounter a greater idiot. However, you may assume a level of common sense, in that if the airlock is secured with a sign reading 'Do not open – vacuum' on it, one would reasonably assume that people would read the sign, and not mistake it for the loo."

"So I've gotten a passed resolution, then I present a..."

"Contract of Incorporation," Eleanor said, looking up from her laptop. "Besides the rights I mentioned, they also have a duty to vote in township elections, and to do some sort of civil duty." She took a bite of potato, chewing reflectively, "Something to benefit the township, as well as themselves. Have a minimum requirement per year of hours, plus a local tax rate."

"Flat tax," Arthur said. "The township has to buy supplies and whatnot. I think we kicked this around a while ago. Someone unemployed can network with someone that can help them back on their feet while they're gardening or whatever."

Sprink mused, "These Committeemen, how long would they be elected for?"

"Two terms of two years each?" Arthur suggested. "Staggered terms? We_ really_ don't want professional politicians, so make it so they'd have to wait out another two terms before they could run again. Fixed election dates, so someone can't game the system."

"January first, and keep it a bank holiday," Charlie suggested. Harry Spencer said, "Hung over voters, that's a recipe for a prize winning group."

"Oh, shut it, you," Anne said, throwing a roll off-hand at her boyfriend.

------------------------


	14. Weeks 23 26, 1– 28 February, 2002

------------------------

A/N 0: Slightly delayed, but Happy Holidays, everyone!

A/N 1: Remember, the other stories are at: www . fictionpress . com / (tilde) karanne (remove the spaces) under Leaving the Cradle.

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
14 – Weeks 23 - 26, 1– 28 February, Fourth Year  
------------------------  
_**Friday, February 1, 2002:  
Hogwarts, History class: 13:10 (GMT)**__**  
**_------------------------

"...and Miss Wayne," Professor Lupin finished off, glancing around the classroom. Mattie grinned, he was a very relaxed professor, this was a fun class. He rolled up the attendance scroll, absentmindedly tapping it with his wand to seal it. "We're going to continue with our cross-referencing of history with current events," he said as he stowed his wand. Picking up the remote, he untangled the slim black cable, clicking to advance to the first slide.

"Piracy," he said simply, as the black flag of Calico Jack appeared. The skull over two crossed scimitars seemed to grin at them as he continued, "Essentially a seaborne robbery, or as we'll discuss in a minute, spaceborne. It's still a problem here on Earth, both the Royal Navy and others fight it. Now, how is this different from Commerce Raiding?"

"Commerce raiding is conducted by a country against another nation's shipping during wartime," Charlie Adams replied. "They generally don't take the cargo, it's designed to prevent its use by the enemy, so they sink the ship."

"Hopefully without killing the crew," Roshawn said. "Pirates, on the other hand, will put a prize crew on board and sail the ship to a port."

"What do they do with the ship, I wonder?" someone asked.

"Repaint it and sell it or sink it, I would think," Charlie said. "Wouldn't the port authorities ask questions about the cargo?"

"Ever hear of a black market?" Shaundra replied with a snort. "You grease enough palms, that paperwork will either disappear or magically correct itself." She shifted to look at Mattie, "That's what's going on now, out there?" and she waved her hand at the ceiling.

She gazed at her friend, then gave a slow nod. "You need to change a ship's registration from the... _Ajax_ to the, oh, _Baker's Dozen_, plenty of places to do it, change out the identity chip, a new logging computer and work on the engine tuning crystals to change their frequency. All of which is illegal, and the manufacturers _say_ that it's technically impossible to do, but..." she shrugged. "You don't need a very large facility, just a few competent techs, and you can hire or buy them from a slaver."

Professor Lupin rapped his knuckles on the lectern, "As you can see, it's an ongoing problem that has been with us for several thousand years. While there is some risk to the pirate, once they subdue the crew, it's very profitable, which is why it continues."

Moving about, he clicked to the next slide, "Legal issues, and I'm going to ask Miss Wayne to chip in here. Many pirates acted as proxy to a nation-state, and were therefore known as privateers. A famous example is Sir Francis Drake, who was issued a Letter of Marque by Queen Elizabeth I. This letter delineated the terms under which a ship could act. Miss Wayne, would you like to comment?"

"If I had known you would be covering this, I would have brought copies," she said, mildly irritated. "Parliament passed, and the Queen signed, a private bill authorizing the Guard. There are actually two Letters, one for normal operations from two hundred kilometers out to the heliopause at one hundred AU. This is issued to the Guard, which issues subsidiary Letters to the different ships. There are very specific rules of engagement for stop and search and so forth." She shifted in her seat, "Because of the French veto at the UN, we're not authorized as a spaceborne Navy, so this gives the captains and their crews some legal protection, although it's not the best. If they exceed those orders, they will be court-martialed, they can be charged with piracy, and there is the death penalty for that."

"Sorry about that," Professor Lupin said. "The second Letter?"

"Intelligence operations," was the answer. "From the heliopause out, and that's all I'm authorized to say."

"So you're a privateer," Charlie said. "You've got a sword, all you need is a damsel in distress and a parrot."

"I'm the modern kind of privateer," she replied with a grin, as Amanda conjured an eyepatch, tossing it to her. Putting it over her left eye, "Avast there, I've a wolf and a good mate, now hand over that booty, shiver me timbers, otherwise you'll be in Davy Jones Locker!"

------------------------  
_**Saturday, February 2, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table**__**: 07:30 (GMT-5)  
**_------------------------

Emma Dobbs stood along with the rest of her team (Sprink suppressing a yawn), tapping her goblet. "May I have your attention, please?" The Great Hall quieted down as she continued, "The Snake's Den would like to wish our honorable opponents the best of luck on the pitch, and to invite them to breakfast."

Eleanor Branstone stood to reply, "The badgers of Hufflepuff return the best wishes of the Den, and accept their most courteous invitation." People rearranged themselves as the Hufflepuff team took seats across from Slytherin, the background noise resumed now the tradition had been observed.

Bill Morton leaned forward, hissing, "All right, what's going on?"

Sprink replied calmly, "Breakfast, mate. Pass the orange marmalade, please?"

------------------------

Bill pulled up to fly next to Mattie, asking, "Okay, what was all that at breakfast?"

"All what?" she asked, as she scanned the pitch for the elusive Snitch. "The only thing I noticed is your going for thirds on the potatoes. That much butter and cream is not good for your waistline. Want to come running with us?"

"Run marathons?" He snorted, "No, thanks."

"Wimp. You start small, running is good aerobic exercise, and I'm almost your sister-in-law so I can say that. How about basketball with Arthur?" He snorted, and she added, "By the way, is your Dad here today?" she asked. The whistle blew, and she broke off, "Time to switch off. I'll talk to you later," she said before diving for the Slytherin bench.

------------------------

Severus frowned as he studied the Hufflepuff tactics. Branstone was running variations that he was not familiar with. He grudgingly admired this, she hadn't shown this subtlety before. He called Dobbs over, casting a privacy spell to consult with his team captain as Koslowski pulled off a feint that managed to suck in the Hufflepuff reserve Seeker.

------------------------

"Hey, Bill," Mattie said as they resumed their flight. "I hope Stephanie's all right, she hit the ground kinda..." she stopped suddenly, her attention fixed on a point on the far side of the pitch. "Excuse me..." and she took off, her cloak billowing behind her as she dodged between the players and a Bludger. "Oh, crap," Bill said, and took off after her.

Mattie glanced behind herself as Bill, on his older Nimbus team broom maneuvered, trying to see what she had. She jinked up, down and sideways to block him as she headed down the pitch, avoiding the other players. Diving, she flew along about ten meters above the turf, and slowed slightly as she continued to jink. Suddenly she flicked right, Bill looked up to see the goal post in front of him. "Oh, shit," he said as he slammed into it, Mattie spiraling up, snitch held up in her left hand as she flew down to check on Bill. Madame Pomfrey was just arriving as Bill groaned, his broom slowly settling down beside him.

------------------------

"Hey, Bill," Mattie said as she entered the infirmary, standing next to his bed. "How are you?"

"He'll be fine, but did you have to fly him into a goalpost?" Bill Morton, Sr. said as he looked at her.

"Daaad..." both Julie and Bill said, Julie continuing, "It was a perfectly legitimate move, Dad."

"Besides, I should have known where I was, the goal posts were plain as day, all I had to do was duck left," Bill said, adding to Mattie, "Thanks for coming."

"No worries, I'll be voting for you as Seeker, and Mr. Morton, I'm sorry for waking you up so late the other night."

Bill waved that off, glowering at Mattie, "Miss Wayne, I'm..."

"You're what, Dad?" Arthur asked. "It's no different than Hank laying out a receiver running a crossing route."

"Hey, he's a Dad, it's his job to worry," Mattie said, reaching to wiggle Bill's foot under the blanket. "Remember the potatoes," she added, giving his foot another wiggle before Bill moved his foot away. "We'll get you ready for the Boston Marathon," she grinned as Bill groaned and she left.

"What's this about potatoes?" Bill asked his youngest son.

------------------------

Bill Morton grumbled to himself as he left the infirmary. The school nurse had confirmed that she was simply holding his son for 'observation', which somewhat reassured him, but...

"Bill! Hey, Bill!" Dick Grayson called, jogging a bit to catch up. "How's your son?"

"Pomfrey says he'll be all right, she wants to hold him overnight," he replied.

Dick nodded sagely, "The old 'observation' trick, I know it well. One of the few chances they have to poke and prod, so they make the most of it." He looked around, then flashed a grin and slid down the banister, waiting on the last step. "I find that safer than trying to remember all the trick stairs," he admitted. "More fun, too. Being a grownup is boring sometimes."

Bill snorted back a chuckle as he arrived. "Dust off your jeans, you'll give us away," he advised.

"Oops. Thanks." Dick slapped at his backside, eying Bill, "I hear you're getting a ship," he offered.

"Yeah, I hear the same thing," Bill confirmed as a staircase moved away. After a pause, he said, "Helium-three, Uranus." Dick sighed, "Ceres, water and ice. We're not in competition. That's a relief."

"Why would you worry?"

"You've got a brain trust with your kids, I'm a simple circus kid that got lucky," Dick confided. "I'm just running a fancy snow blower into a big plastic bag. You've got the tough job." He eyed Bill, asking, "What's really bothering you? Is it that you're worried about them, you want to protect them..."

"Bingo, but how'd you know? I didn't think you had any yourself," Bill said as they reached the ground floor.

"My first is on the way, but I played surrogate dad for Mattie quite a few times, and she's given me more than a few gray hairs," Dick admitted. "Hell, I'll probably be calling you for advice in a few months. Besides, you played football in school, you were Navy, you went on liberty, you probably fell out of the tree house in the back yard a time or three." He stopped, "Even if this had happened on the 'ol gridiron, tackle football, kids get hit hard, they get bounced around. Bill didn't even break a bone, did he?"

"What is a 'gridiron'?" Severus asked, stepping from the shadows.

"Nickname for the American football pitch," Dick replied. "Severus, you've seen this before," he asked.

"Indeed," he replied, motioning for them to follow him. He seemed to float along the floor in his black robes, he stopped at a statue and hissed, the door swung open and he invited them in, with the warning, "My private offices. Please do not touch anything, of course."

"Of course," Bill Morton said. He stopped, nodding at a small pile of grey powder, "That looks familiar."

"It is moon dust, I am working on a cure for lycanthropy," Severus said. "Please, have a seat," he offered, opening a cabinet and extracting a bottle and three glasses. "Firewhiskey," he said, pouring.

------------------------

"Pomona is no doubt sitting next to young Bill's bedside, gently cajoling him to remember to watch where he flies whilst stuffing him with cookies," Severus said. He took a tiny sip of the potent beverage, steam coming from his ears.

"What's this 'voting for'? Bill asked.

"Ah, we will be competing in an academic tournament in April against other schools," the Potion Master said. "I shall be voting for your son as Seeker." He took another tiny sip, "The school has been asked to vote on primary and reserve teams, and we have been asked not to vote for our own house teams. This plays to Slytherin, we are the smallest of the four houses, Hufflepuff is the largest." He gazed into the depths of the glass, "I am voting for young Bill not for political reasons, but because I believe him to be an excellent player, although inexperienced. That can be partially alleviated by coaching, we have quite a few alumni that are talented players in their own right. If he can keep his head about himself, he will develop into a fine player."

Another tiny sip, "Quidditch, like any sport played at school, is useful not only for exercise, but also teaches team play, cooperation, and keeping one's head. Mr. Morton, the wizarding birthrate is falling, in part due to the recent 'blood purity' nonsense promulgated by Voldemort. All too often, we see young witches and wizards, especially those of pureblood stock, enter believing themselves to be young royalty. This is due to their being an only child, and frequently being the only surviving child out of several attempts. Naturally, the parents tend to spoil those children – Draco Malfoy was an excellent example. By having to depend on team-mates that are of muggle or partial muggle stock, this helps to overcome that handicap, to open one's mind."

"But... she ran him into the goalpost!"

"Not from where I sat, and I may assure you that if I felt Miss Wayne deliberately injured another player, foul or not, she would be feeling my displeasure," Severus said. "Despite her position she is still a teenager, she is still growing. Things bother her that will not given the fullness of time, she is a typical teenager in that she obsesses about herself, her image, and as such she makes errors." He took a sip, "As we all have, and been corrected, and I guarantee you that her money or influence do not spare her."

"Leftenent Martin," Dick said, and Severus nodded. Dick took a sip of whiskey himself, "He was a Royal Marine that the school hired to teach martial arts. They had an immediate 'personality clash', he called her a liar regarding her skills, and she became defensive." He gestured, "She should have let it slide, but her age and size have always bothered her. She took it personally, he couldn't believe that a little girl would know more about the martial arts than he, a Royal Marine, and so in a classroom demonstration, she put him in the infirmary." Taking another sip, "If Severus had not disciplined her to our satisfaction, we would have."

"The leftenent is also an arse, but that is beside the point," Severus said. "I will discipline students as I see fit, regardless of their name or house. Indeed, I double punishments for my Slytherins that are imposed by others, I will also intercede for them should I feel it justified. Miss Wayne's actions on the pitch this afternoon do not qualify." He took a final sip of firewhiskey, "What does young Bill say?"

"He says, as do Arthur and Julie, that it was his fault, he should have paid attention. But..."

"But you are his father," Severus said as Dick finished his drink. He closed the bottle, pushing it to Bill, "Take it, and I shall keep an eye on young Bill."

------------------------  
_**Friday, February 8, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table**__**: 17:34 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Minerva stood, tapping her wineglass, "May I have your attention please?" The hall quieted as she continued, "Thank you. I would like to announce the results of balloting for the Hogwarts Quidditch teams. Would the following persons please stand against the far wall, under the clock?"

Bets were being taken as she cleared her throat. "I will announce the primary and then the reserve players for each position. For Beater, Miss Johnson and Miss Tonks, and both Cortez twins." She added, "I am aware that both Miss Johnson and Miss Tonks play Chaser for their respective houses. However, this is the results of the balloting. For Chaser..."

"I'm in, I'm in!" Sprink said, bouncing in her seat. She realized, "It's been a while since I played Beater."

"I'm sure the coach, whoever it is, will help you out," Emma Dobbs said. "We've missed Chaser, what's next?"

"For Keeper, by a wide margin of votes, Mr. Spencer," Minerva continued. "For reserve, Mr. Ravensworth. If you would, gentlemen?" Harry grinned, slapping hands at the Gryffindor table as he made his way while Hartley silently unfolded himself from the Ravenclaw table.

"Now, finally, for Seeker, Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton, the younger, that is." Bill sat stunned at the Hufflepuff table, finally being prodded to get up by his housemates. "Thank you," Minerva said. "The coaches, Professor Snape and Mrs. Potter. Professor Potter will be serving as one of the referees, and will therefore not be available. We will also be accepting the assistance of volunteer position coaches, for Beater we have the infamous Fred and George Weasley. We do not yet have the other positions filled." She took a sip of wine, "In order to practice, these students are excused from Friday afternoon classes, although they are still responsible for the material, of course. Mrs. Potter will supervise on the pitch at that time, Professor Snape on Saturdays and Sundays."

She tapped her wineglass once again, "One last thing," and the discussions broke off, "We will be hosting the Beauxbatons team in two weeks. I am aware that only gives one week of practice, therefore I expect you to do your best. Thank you." She sat as the room filled with conversation.

Severus stood, tapping his wineglass, "The team will meet in five minutes in classroom 12."

------------------------  
_**Saturday, February 9, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table**__**: 07:38 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

Arthur arrived for breakfast to see the study group... well, short. Doing a quick head count, he asked, "Anne, where are Mattie and the others?"

She raised her head, blinking to reorient herself, "They doth be having a fast-break meeting for the team in Classroom 12. They wilst then hie to the pitch for practice." She studied his face, "You dids't wish to have time with her? Dids't thou inform her of this?"

"No, I wanted it to be a surprise, breakfast picnic by the lake. Damnit!"

She extended a hand, grasping one of his, "In the future, inform one of us, and we shall assist thee in diverting thy swain." She examined him, "Thou art in need of rest as much as she is. We shall be pleased to assist, but we need to know anon of thy plans to woo."

"Candle-lit dinner?" Felicia suggested.

"We doth not know how long the practice shalt take," Anne said, regretfully. "We doth have only this weekend to practice before the arrival of the rival team. I would'st consider she will be out late." She squeezed his hand in sympathy, "Prithee, I understand. My own swain doth be unavailable as well."

------------------------

"With one week to practice," Professor Snape said, "I do not anticipate victory. Indeed, this match is simply a more extended practice session. Far more important is what can be achieved behind the scenes."

"Exactly what I was thinking, sir," Mattie said, with Sprink adding, "The first step is always..."

"My closest safehouse to the Abbey is three kilometers, in Marseilles," Mattie added. "Simple enough to add a booster transmitter." She took a contemplative sip of her coffee, "I'm not really concerned about the French, I have plans in place for their government, the Russians..."

"As they should," Professor Snape said, nodding thoughtfully.

"I was thinking, though, about the visiting team, sir." Sprink said slowly. "There's only three girls on their team..."

"Chocolate?" Mattie asked. Sprink nodded, and Professor Snape said, "I shall arrange it. Regarding the others, perhaps a Grand Council?"

"I could use some advice regarding another planet," Mattie said. "I need to adjust their government."

That casual comment gave a listening Eleanor chills, giving her an idea just how far out of her depth she was regarding _this_ particular chessboard.

"We can certainly assist," Severus said. "I shall reserve the Great Hall for tomorrow night."

"What's going on?" Eleanor Branstone asked. "What's with chocolate, and which Abbey? Which government?"

Mattie took pity, "Intelligence on our enemies. Beauxbatons is located in the Abbey of Saint-Victor, a ruined fifth century church in the center of Marseilles. One of my safehouses is close to the Abbey, we'll bounce the signals off a private satellite."

Harry Spencer finally asked, "Er, chocolate, and a planetary government? What's a Grand Council?"

"Your great whatever auntie Victoria took part in the last one," Sprink said. "It's a gathering of all living Slytherins."

"One of the planetary governments I need to deal with is a group of old, misogynistic oligarchs," Mattie said. "The only ones with a vote are the larger male property owners. I need to... adjust... the government to something a little more democratic that I can work with, and I'm taking this opportunity for advice."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, February 10, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall**__**: 17:36 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

News had spread through the school, and students from other houses watched from the balconies as the first Slytherin Grand Council in 160 years got under way. There was some discussion as various nobles and MP's were recognized, but most of those entering were unknown, and disguised by concealing charms.

"Go on!" someone hissed at Julie, and she sidled over to Amy Bones, who was serving as a greeter, and was adjusting her dress robes. "Err, Amy? I had a question..." she started. She reached over to dust off her friend's robes, "My friends, they were saying that they don't recognize most of these people."

"Thanks," Amy said. "Look up 'grey eminence' and you'll understand. Excuse me," and moved off, "Lady Black, welcome back to Hogwarts," as Bellatrix Black emerged from the floo. "The Council is in the Great Hall. May I?" she asked, raising the brush, and Bella nodded. They turned as a student tried to pass the glowing green line across the doors, and was thrown away. Bella raised a perfect eyebrow, and Amy shrugged, "The other Houses had a buffet dinner in their common rooms."

"Suitable," Bella said. "Thank you, my dear." She examined Amy, "I don't believe I recognize... Bones? I thought your family was Hufflepuff."

"They are, ma'am, but I was sorted into the Den..."

"Excellent, a learning experience for you..."

"I'm looking forward to it, ma'am."

------------------------

Mattie held a small glass of wine, and listened as Lady Bankshard, of HM Exchequer made a suggestion. Thankful for her memory spell (that Sprink had cast on her), she turned to the fellow who was listening. He raised his glass to the concealing charm about his head, his hand disappearing briefly into the grey, swirling cloud.

"Milord Nigel, have you anything to add to the lady's comment?" she asked.

The concealed MI-6 operative took another sip, "I do recall a case that was somewhat similar," he said. "Angola, I do believe. Yes, I had a minor part in assisting BP in acquiring exploration rights there. It seems that..."

------------------------

Amy made her way through the crowd, quietly listening to the snatches of conversation that she passed, making notes to herself. '_Pity I can't tell the family about this_,' she thought.

------------------------  
_**Friday, February 15, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Steps**__**: 16:51 (GMT)  
**_------------------------

The Hogwarts Quidditch team waited as the flying coach settled to the ground, the huge horses snorting and pawing at the snow as Hagrid ran out to settle them down. After a while, the visiting team, their coaches and their enormous headmistress emerged, making their way through the snow to their waiting hosts. Clad in her furs, Madame Maxime called, "Minerva!" and started to chat as her team waited, shivering in their thin, sky-blue silk robes.

Waiting politely for the chance, Minerva finally suggested, "Olympe, perhaps we should get the students inside out of the cold?"

"But of course!" Olympe said, and resumed her conversation, as Ginny motioned the visitors inside.

------------------------

Gabrielle Delacour, the team's captain moaned, "I do not think I shall ever be warm again," as she sat with the Slytherins. Without a word, Sprink passed her a cup of hot tea, and Mattie said, "Drink up, there's plenty." The bell for the end of classes sounded as a conjured blanket was wrapped over her shoulders.

"Merci," Gabrielle said, taking a sip of tea, then looking across the table at Mattie, "Mademoiselle Wayne, I must say that not all French, and indeed a number of the members of Parlement français are distressed by our government's actions."

Mattie sipped her coffee, "I have noted street protests in Paris and other cities," she said calmly.

Gabrielle smiled wryly, "Protesting is a national hobby, one might say. However, I am a patriot of France, which obliges me to look to her best interests." She took a sip, "There was a great deal of discussion about the Security Council vote in school, and indeed, in the streets of Marseilles." She cradled the mug of tea in her hands, her blue eyes looking directly into Mattie's green ones, "Mademoiselle Wayne, I believe the best interests of France are aligned with you, not with M. Chirac and his government in Paris."

"How many feel this way?" Sprink asked.

"Enough," Gabrielle said. "Enough. Will it be enough to create a Sixth Republic? We shall see."

------------------------  
_**Saturday, February 16, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Quidditch Pitch: 08:36 (GMT)**__**  
**_------------------------

Mattie watched from the bench as Bill orbited, looking for the Snitch. It was a poor day to be a Seeker: cold and grey in a heavy overcast. Hogwarts was not using the Slytherin Ballistic, it was a complex play that required a great deal of practice. Professor Snape had deliberately kept most of the primary players grounded, giving the reserves practice while misleading the French.

The Beauxbatons team, having had more time to practice, had been scoring fairly easily against Hartley Ravensworth. While the tall Ravenclaw had an awesome wingspan, they had quickly discovered his weakness, which was a high fake passed to a low attack, giving them a score of 90-20. She studied the French tactics as Sprink and Amy, the only two primary players on the pitch, combined to swat a pair of bludgers toward Gabrielle, Beauxbatons' Seeker. One was intercepted by a French beater, the other was neatly dodged.

The crowd groaned as another French chaser scored. With a 'ding' the scoreboard changed: 100-20. She had a fairly good idea of what the commentary would be like, watching the smooth French players and the awkward ... she leaned forward, Bill was diving, he had his hand out, only to have the Snitch stolen from him by Gabrielle at the last second. As he pulled up, yelling something at her, she spiraled aloft, the Snitch held in her right hand as the bell rang to close the match, 250-20.

------------------------

As the Hogwarts players stood in a line to congratulate Beauxbatons' players, Mattie slipped Gabrielle a card, casually asking, "Let me know if I can assist."

Next to her, Bill shook her hand reluctantly, saying, "Wait until April..."

After they had gone, Mattie threw her arm over Bill's shoulder, "Don't let it worry you. This is just the first move in this poker game."

"I think you're mixing your metaphors," he said.

"Yeah, I am," she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze as they turned for the showers.

------------------------  
_**Sunday, February 17, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Ravenclaw table: 08:19 (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"Hurry up, Arthur," Mattie said as he arrived. "We'll be late."

"Late? Late for what?" he asked.

"You're being fitted for your birthday present," his girlfriend said. She took a final sip of coffee, then put the cup down with a decisive click. "Not only did a little bird tell me that you wanted a shotgun to take with you, it said you were going to buy a _civilian_ model. That just won't do, I've got several mil-spec combat shotguns for you three to try out." She tented her fingers and rested her chin on them. "Only the best for you three. Now finish your tea, we're going shopping, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

As he finished his tea and stood to go, Arthur was tempted to ask why she could take him anywhere at a moment's notice while he had to plan at least a week in advance just to go for a walk to Hogsmeade with her. He was however, not quite that stupid.

------------------------

"This is the first stop," Mattie said, gesturing Arthur up on the stand so he could be measured. As Lavender worked, Charlie took the next stand as the girls put their heads together over material swatches.

"Ow!" Arthur said. Getting a nod from Parvati, he stepped down as Sprink took his place. "What's going on?"

"Body armor, dear," Mattie said, handing over the swatches. "Dragon hide outside, Kevlar® inside, with Acromantula silk lining. I think the Horntail black would look best on you, although Sprink was pulling for the Short-snout's silver. I think that would make a nice accent, and perhaps some boots..."

"Boots, yes, but I was planning on a trench coat..."

"How about a vest?" Sprink asked, after a whispered consultation with Charlie. "My shout for that."

"We can do that," Lavender said, looking up.

------------------------

"Good afternoon, Miss Wayne," the grizzled older man said. "Are these the friends you mentioned needed a bit of protection?"

"Yes, SarMajor," Mattie said. "Specifically, a mil-spec shotgun."

He grunted, then unlocked a cabinet, laying several down. "I understand you'll be going off planet," he said as he laid down weapons. "All of these are chambered for twelve gauge. DON'T touch them until I give you permission," he said with a glare at Charlie, who was reaching for one of the exotic weapons. "What do you think the most probable locations will be?"

"Streets or rooms, under fifty meters," Mattie said. "We have to be visibly armed, so something big and ugly."

The SarMaj grunted, tapping one. "Izhmash, in Russia. Saiga-SWAT. Took the Kalashnikov-pattern guns and ran them up to a shotgun. Box magazine, semi-automatic. There was a bit of a trick to mounting the magazine, make sure you extract the first round..."

"That's a shotgun?" Charlie asked quietly, looking at one with a drum.

"Striker 12 gauge from South Africa," Mattie replied after a glance. "12 round cylinder feed. It's big enough and ugly enough, but the drum isn't detachable, which makes it a pain to reload."

The SarMaj nodded approvingly. "Know your weapons, lass. Which for you?"

"I'm covered, thanks," she said with a smile.

------------------------

"So, exactly how illegal are these things?" Arthur asked the SarMaj while closely examining, internal and externally, the weapons arrayed before him.

"Miss Wayne's Letter of Marque and Reprisal grants her certain advantages not enjoyed by the average citizen," the SarMarj admitted.

"Thought so." Arthur turned and shouted, "Mattie, got a problem here!"

After she joined them, Mattie asked, "Nothing major I hope?"

"You can buy these, and you can give 'em to the troops, but you can't give them to me, Charlie and Sprink because we're not members of the Solar Guard."

Mattie thought for a moment. "Okay, you won't technically own them. I'll own them and you three can carry them around for me."

"They're assault weapons. We can't legally possess them here."

Mattie frowned at her boyfriend's obstinacy. "We won't _be_ here. That's the whole point."

"But where on Earth, pray tell, can we legally practice with them and get used to carrying them?"

Mattie shot him a look, as the SarMaj said, "I'll issue them to you, lad, and you can practice on the range through those doors."

"Fine, whatever," Arthur said before turning to the SarMaj. "The stock on this one is not only foldable, but it's removable too, right?"

------------------------

"Well, you're not just any girlfriend," Arthur said, reaching over to give Mattie a hug.

"That's true love," Charlie quipped, "She got him a shotgun for his birthday..."

"No," Mattie fired back as she reached over to adjust Arthur's concealing hood. "True love is my giving up something I enjoy, like Quidditch, in order to spend more time with my guy."

"Right..." Sprink said, then took another look, "You're serious."

Her best friend nodded, "I am. Once we finish with this tournament, I'm resigning from the team."

"You don't have to do that for me," Arthur protested.

"Actually, I do," she replied. As the Tube car stopped at a station, and people shuffled around them, she continued, "I need the time to study, we'll need to start thinking about college, too." She grinned, "It's not like I need the exercise, I can get that in basketball or running, and I'm surprised that Sprink and Amy haven't considered it."

Sprink looked guilty, "I have, actually. M' marks have slipped, P'fessor Snape has ... spoken to me and Mum. Dunno about Amy, though."

Charlie nodded, "Probably. She's in her OWL year, and this has to be exhausting."

"What do you major in, though, to prepare you for life as..." 'your husband' Arthur almost said, "...a future Lunar resident and galactic trader?"

Mattie grinned as the train car started again, "I don't even know where I'd go to college: Gotham, Ohio State, MIT or one of the London schools. By that time we may have a college on the Moon." She squeezed his hand, understanding his momentary hesitation. She whispered to him, "You'll be anonymous as I can make it as long as you want it. After all, I want some anonymity too, but we've got some time to think and make arrangements."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, February 26, 2002:  
London, Arrowhead Development, lobby**__**: 13:14: (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

Mattie saw Bill Morton at the security desk, and called, "Mr. Morton! Got a minute?" He turned, smiled slightly and nodded, "Miss Wayne, I was just using the video phone to talk to the construction people on the moon." He chuckled, "I don't believe I just said that."

"It's wild, isn't it?" she agreed, offering, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee upstairs, we can talk?"

Bill nodded slowly, and Miles handed his pass back, "Initial here, mate."

------------------------

Upstairs, Bill looked after the departing Anne as she left the tea-room, preoccupied with something, asking "Is she all right?"

"Oh, yes," Mattie replied as she reached down an Arrowhead mug from a cabinet. "She's usually got her head in the clouds, or rather in a physics haze. She designed the subspace equipment you were talking on earlier. I think she's working on antimatter at the moment, but with her, you never can tell." She grinned as she unwrapped the paper from the new coffee mug. "Souvenir of your trip, thousands of pounds for a two dollar mug." She quickly washed it, then pointed at the coffee pot. "The finest Columbian coffee from Senor Valdez."

"I thought she looked familiar," Bill said as he poured. He looked around carefully, before asking softly, "Hogwarts?"

Mattie nodded, "A housemate from the 14th century," she confirmed quietly as he poured her coffee. "Thank you. I got the feeling you wanted to talk about the trip this summer."

Bill stirred his coffee with a handy spoon, then rinsed it off, leaving it in the sink. "I did have some questions about that."

Folding a paper towel into a square coaster, Mattie asked, "Is my office all right, or do you want a conference room?"

------------------------

Outside the tea-room, Mattie said, "Crystal, Eric, this is Bill Morton, father of one of my Hogwarts mates." Bill was a bit surprised when they transformed, and Eric shook his hand.

"Sorry 'bout that," Crystal said, taking his hand in hers. "Didn't expect us, did you?"

"Er, no. Pleased to meet you," he said, then blinked again in surprise as they transformed back. Mattie reached out to steady his mug, smiling a bit. "They're Ministry werewolves, my bodyguards," she continued.

"Amazing..." he said. "May I?" he asked, crouching down to look at Eric. "Does the... does it hurt?"

Eric reached up a forepaw, waggling it a bit side to side. Miss Wayne said, "From what I understand, the actual transfiguration hurts a bit, like a charlie horse, but then its gone. What I'm concerned with is if they stay as wolves, they'll start to think like wolves instead of people." Crystal snorted at this.

------------------------

Putting down her coffee after taking a sip, Mattie asked, "So, Mr. Morton, what can I do for you?" He looked her over while sipping his. Leaning forward in the visitors chair, he asked, "When's the last time off you had?"

Shifting in her seat, she ran a finger over the edge of her mug, "Um... I slept in on the flight to Beta Lyrae around Christmas, but in terms of a vacation?" She chuckled, "An actual holiday? I think when I was kidnapped back to the 14th century, and unconscious for three days. I have fantasies of lying on a tropical beach and doing absolutely _nothing_." She sighed, "With my luck, some sea monster would come onshore and try to eat me, although I do plan to pack a bikini on that flight this summer, but..." She shrugged, "That planet... nice, tropical world, but I'll probably have to overthrow the existing government before I can take a vacation." She suppressed a yawn, "Excuse me."

He sat back, sipping his coffee, "Tell me about that planet, please."

"It's known as Windfall," she replied. "They've allegedly got a vast database of alien tech, which we need, but they don't have the manufacturing like we do. Unfortunately, they've been operating under an 'emergency' government for the last sixty or seventy years, which is a plutocracy more than anything else. They've been concentrating on maintaining power and lining their pockets, and have neglected their duties."

Bill Morton looked her over as he finished his coffee, "One thing I can tell is that you're neglecting yours by not getting adequate rest, Miss Wayne." He leaned forward, "What time do you get up?"

She blinked, "Usually three on weekdays, it lets me get homework done."

Bill sighed, "I'm not your father, Miss Wayne, but I am _a_ father, and I won't be doing my own kids any favors if you fall apart." He turned, "Eric? Could you two come here for a minute, please?" The two Ministry werewolves came in, Bill said, "I'm going to kidnap Miss Wayne back to Hogwarts, and get her in the infirmary to rest. Any objections?"

Crystal moved forward to look her boss over, "No. I'm bloody happy someone's sitting on her to take care of herself. She works a mad schedule, she can't continue to operate on coffee and a couple hours of sleep." She shook a finger, "Don't tell me about all you have to do. There's nothing that can't wait a day or three. Do we have to get Ellen in here to confirm this?"

"Did I hear my name?" the blonde secretary asked. "You're going to put her in the school's infirmary to rest?" The three nodded, "Good. The only thing needs done is a few signatures, and they can wait, I'll fend off the hordes, and give Mr. Thompson a ring to let him know." She came forward, gazing critically at her boss, and tisked, "School and running two companies? Dear, one of those would be exhausting, much less all three. I don't want to see you before next Tuesday, or I'll pack you off myself."

------------------------


	15. Weeks 27 – 31, 1– 31 March, 2002

------------------------

A/N: Warning, character deaths.

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
15 – Weeks 27 – 31, 1– 31 March, Fourth Year  
------------------------  
_**Friday, March 1, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 17:10 (GMT)**__**  
**_------------------------

Sprink cautiously peeked around the privacy screen, then whispered, "She's still asleep," to Arthur and Charlie.

"And she will stay that way," Madame Pomfrey told them, appearing from behind another set of screens. "Miss Wayne needs to rest, now go on with you. Miss Tonks, I believe you need to be on the Quidditch pitch, and the two of you will see her tomorrow. Now off with you, and that includes you two," she added, glaring at Eric and Crystal, who were lounging on beds across the ward. "Go on, I will ward the doors so an assassin doesn't sneak in. It's the weekend, go home to your families. Shoo!"

The two werewolves grudgingly joined the three students, and Poppy saw them out, warding the doors as she had promised. She also enabled a spell that would alert her if a student approached needing attention, then turned away. Adjusting a screen, she stripped the two beds the Ministry werewolves had been lying on, a house-elf would replace them with sterile bedding in a moment. Looking about her domain, she mused, '_The really outstanding students seem to ... acquire beds that they occupy more than other students. Look at Harry Potter when he was a student, and before that,Tonks and Remus Lupin. Miss Wayne seems to be carrying on the tradition. I dearly wish I could have spoken to our future visitor, Miss Yates, when she was here. I had the impression she had continued on the fine old tradition herself. Ah, well_...' and went to carry on with her duties.

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 2, 2002:  
London, 93 Diagon Alley, Weasley Wizard Wheezes**__**: 06:47: (GMT) **__**  
**_------------------------

"How does that look?" Ron yelled, straddling his broom as he supported the garish banner.

"Up a bit more, and to the right," Hermione said, "No, my right, Ron." She sighed, "That will have to do," she called, and Ron aimed his wand, fixing the banner in place on the wall. Ron landed, and they both surveyed the bright yellow banner, Hermione in a mild state of horror at the tasteless mix, and Ron because of his own lack of taste (he still supported the Chudley Cannons, after all). The red lettering announced the Wheeze was 'An official sponsor of the 2002 Hogwarts Interscholastic Team'.

"Excellent!" Ron said in approval, and aimed his wand. His spell caused a set of horns to play the Gryffindor fight song, and she winced. "Don't you think that's a bit much?"

"Na," he said happily, and gave her a quick hug before he went inside. Raising her eyebrow and her own wand, she adjusted the volume down quite a bit. From across the way, Florean raised his hand, giving her a 'thumbs up'. As she walked across to greet him, he rubbed his head. "Thank you, my dear. I can see where that would be giving me a headache all day long."

------------------------  
_**Monday, March 4, 2002:  
Gotham City, Midtown Medical Plaza: 08:23: (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

Barbara signed in at the office for her 8:30, and carefully lowered herself into a chair to wait. She was mildly irritated at Dick for still being in London, and missing her Lamaze classes. She had two people who had substituted (although she still missed her husband), Selina and, surprisingly, Edward Nigma. When she had asked him after class, he had been candid: he had his eye on one of Mattie's teachers he had met, and felt that there was no such thing as 'useless knowledge'. He had smiled at that point, and quietly admitted that he and Selina remained close friends, and she didn't want to go further than that. "Besides, I enjoy the company of intelligent women, and you certainly qualify, my dear," he had added. "I shall speak with Richard when I see him, it is not right that your husband is not here."

------------------------  
_**Monday, March 4, 2002:  
London, 75 Diagon Alley (first floor): 08:40: (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Lois paused, setting herself and pulling sharply at the wooden door. For some reason, wizarding doors always seemed to stick for her. She shrugged, she was running late for her appointment and she couldn't call in, the healer didn't have a phone.

------------------------

She really didn't like coming to this Healer's offices, he always seemed to look down his nose at her. While she had checked in with a muggle OB and continued to see her, she couldn't account for the various charms and spells she wore to the NHS. However, she couldn't continue to visit Hogwarts for her medical needs, either.

She really didn't like the potions, either. '_What I put up with for you and the baby, Clark_!' she thought.

------------------------

"Ms. Lane! How very good to see you!" the elderly gentleman said as he held the stairway door for her. "I trust you are feeling well?"

"Well, my husband and I are trying for our first," she admitted. "There have been... complications before. What brings you by?"

"Ah," Mr. Ollivander said. "My grandson is learning the wand maker's art after graduating Hogwarts last year, he collected some wood for me. However, it had a bowtruckle in it, who was displeased." He held up some bandaged fingers, "I have released it back to the Forbidden Forest, and stopped to discuss things with Professor Sprout." He leaned forward to open the street door for her, and she nodded as she stepped through. He offered his arm, she accepted, as they strolled up the street he commented, "I am heartened by seeing more activity on the Alley. Perhaps you might come by, I do think your magical aura is stronger."

"Mr. Ollivander," she said as she patted his arm, "I haven't time to start learning spells and such now, although... I do confess it is tempting."

"Perhaps you might look about Flourish and Blotts," he suggested. "I do believe they have a few books in that area. Even general household spells might prove useful." He stopped, "Your shop, milady. Should you see my bloke Nigel, I would appreciate his stopping by for a cuppa, I am considering additional advertising."

"You know the way to a publisher's heart," Lois admitted with a chuckle. She patted his hand again, "Take care, Mr. Ollivander."

------------------------  
_**Thursday, March 7, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 13 (Sisal project): 17:18 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"Miss Wayne, I had a question," Professor Flitwick said. "Why are we not looking at the colonization of Mars? I have studied it, it seems preferable to the Moon."

Mattie took a swallow of water (she was trying to cut back on the coffee), and nodded. "With the better drives and communications we have, I agree. Unfortunately, we don't have that option for legal reasons."

Harry Spencer leaned forward, "What do you mean? It's uninhabited."

"There are some rovers there," Eleanor Branstone added.

Sitting back, Mattie nodded again. "The International Court ruled that the planet Mars is the sole property of J'onn J'onzz, as the last survivor of his people. He regards the planet as the graveyard of his people, and he really doesn't want farms and a subdivision built there."

Eleanor nodded, "I can see that."

"So, we're trying to negotiate other rights. There are a few comm satellites in place, and we're trying to supplement those with a basic system of our navigation and comm satellites." Waving her hand, "It's basically a GPS satellite without the nuclear and military circuits, and with additional data relay and communications circuits. We need a ground station for those, and for our airborne survey platforms." She cradled her drink in her hands, "Those are free-flying balloons, a solar panel on top, sensors in the basket on the bottom. They would communicate through the satellites to the base station, which would have maybe half a dozen people, a greenhouse, and a subspace comm. He's agreeable to comm satellites, but wants us to clean up all the debris from the failed attempts before he'll permit even a basic station." She shrugged, "That's the reason. In any case, negotiations are proceeding with his attorney in New York." Mattie turned when Anne, who had been preoccupied with her laptop, gasped, "I ... I think I hath done it."

"Done what?" Arthur asked.

"A method to stabilize... that which I hath been preoccupied with..." she said faintly. She looked crosswise at her laptop, "I did'st not expect... I am tempted to delete this, I am recalled of Nobel's legacy. What hath I released?" She looked faintly nauseous, and looked at Flitwick, "Professor, prithee would'st thou examine my work?"

"What's she working on?" Arthur asked Mattie, as Flitwick examined the laptop, and Harry Spencer hugged Anne.

"I do not follow the physics completely," Flitwick said. "However, I agree, you seem to have achieved your goal, Miss Bundy." Arthur got up and looked at the laptop himself. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Anne?" Mattie asked, "Is this related to your last report to me?" The blonde nodded, looking nauseous. "We'll need to find some way to patent it, then, without revealing what the secret is."

"What secret?" Harry asked.

"If she's done what she was trying for," Mattie took a deep breath, "Cheap, stable ... antimatter."

There was dead silence in the room, when Eleanor asked "What about terrorists?"

"Aye," Anne replied faintly, when Charlie asked, "Just how powerful is it?"

"One gram of antimatter is about forty kilotons," Mattie said. She sat back, playing with a chicken leg as she thought, "We'll need to find a way to patent it that removes a critical step."

"You can't, as I understand it," Harry Spencer said. "It would have to remain a secret process. Could it be used in production of fuel?"

"I doth not know..." Anne said. "Fuel one can hold in thy hand, it is not a weapon. With antimatter, one must reverse the particle spins and the charges, the easiest way, what I hath been concerned with, is inserting it through a temporal field. The spell I did'st use to send my Christmas package home did'st inspire that, however, production and storage doth require hard vacuum and magnetic fields, therefore one must do so in space..." she trailed off in thought.

"How can you..." Flitwick began before trailing off in thought as well.

"Wouldn't that be similar to flipping amino acids, for dietetic food?" Eleanor said.

"That's molecular, this is quantum," Arthur said as he examined Anne's work.

"That's a problem the Japanese are having with replicators," Mattie said. "They can produce things like tableware, but food they replicate is poisonous, they're killing their lab mice. That's why we're still using farms and growing produce." She grinned, "Come run with us if you want to drop a size." Eleanor gave a small smile and didn't answer.

"Doesn't the Wheeze have joke clothing that reverses on you?" Charlie asked. "Could that charm be used?"

"That's properly a spell they use, _Reflexio Mutatis_," Professor Flitwick said. "How would one cast a spell on the object, not only remotely, but by a machine?" He sat back, musing on the problem as the conversation went on, wondering what other miracles magic might produce by working with muggle science instead of against it.

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 9, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 12 (Quidditch team): 07:47 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"Settle down, people," Mrs. Potter said. "Professor Snape will be here shortly. Let's discuss the last practice. Wayne, I want you to keep working with Morton on finding the Snitch." She looked around, "Ravensworth, what the bloody hell are you blokes looking at?"

"I didn't think that's possible..." he mused, unfolding the page. He jerked when a quick summoning charm landed the magazine in Ginny's hand.

"_Playwizard_," she snorted, dropping it on the table. "Honestly, I thought better of you blokes."

"We didn't pay for it! It was a free subscription!" One of the other fellows said as Fred (or George) quietly summoned the magazine from the table.

"Ma'am, the girls did get Belgian chocolate..." Sprink offered in her team-mates' defense.

"Fair's fair, girls. Bring what's left to the team meeting tomorrow," Ginny said, and now the girls groaned. The Weasley twins were huddled over the magazine, snickering, and she summoned the magazine again. "You two... I want some solid work with the Beaters today and tomorrow, or I'll mention this to Alicia and Angelina and let _them_ deal with you!"

"Aw, Gin-Gin!" one said as they both sat up straight, the other saying, "It's market research for our adult line..."

"All of you! Pitch!" she said, her wand flicking to release the door's wards. "Now!"

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 9, 2002:  
Gotham, University housing area: 19:15 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

Batgirl watched as the slim black-clad figure finished with the mugger, returning the possessions of the three victims. Caught for a second in the glow of a security light, she estimated the figure as a young teenage female, about five foot in height, wearing tight black jeans and boots, a black turtleneck top and a black ski mask. She quickly stopped to empty the mugger's wallet, then vanished into the darkness.

Flipping down her infrared lenses, Batgirl moved to intercept the girl. "Very nice," she complimented. "Smooth moves, no wasted motion. Only one question: why empty his wallet?"

'_Must eat_,' the figure signed to her. '_Will not take from victims, other not need_,' she signed.

Batgirl nodded. "Are you interested in more formal training? If you are, meet me in a week, the roof of Fitzroy's, overlooking the Diamond District. This time, and don't be late."

'_Never late_,' the figure signed, as Batgirl faded away.

------------------------

"That's both of them," Batgirl said. "I hate having to use kids, though."

"They chose to do it," Oracle said. "Since Dr. Phillips forbids me to go out, I'm pregnant, not crippled, damn it."

"I told him the same thing," Batgirl said.

------------------------  
_**Monday, March 11, 2002:  
Gotham, Blackgate prison: 10:20 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

After a few minutes of conversation, the convict leaned forward, "I got one more thing for you," he said. He watched, amused, as the attorney's Adams apple swerved up and down as he swallowed convulsively. "I want you to talk to Paolo, I want a contract." He waited as the attorney made a pro-forma objection, he had bought the man's soul a long time ago.

Salvatore Marone leaned back in his chair, "Wayne, the daughter. The 'Queen of Space' herself. She's protectin' that traitorous bitch of a consigliore, I'll pay seven large ta see her bleedin' head on my desk. Take out both of them, I'll pay ten ta see both their heads side by side."

"Wayne's heavily guarded in London, and Castellano's off planet," the attorney mentioned.

"Ain't my problem," the Mafioso said.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, British Library: 09:02 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Their earlier surveillance had been confirmed by their female operative, DGSE's intelligence had been correct. Their spy had been 'inquiring' about placing her fictitious son when Mme. Morton had dropped off the boy Carson. One of their team was even now occupying a park bench, ostensibly reading a newspaper, there to make certain the boy was not removed for some reason.

The team leader turned from the public Internet terminal, telling himself, '_Bon. Paris est notifiée. Nous pouvons commencer_'. (Good. Paris is notified. We may begin.)

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Charing Cross Child Minders, Ltd.: 12:39 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

The team strolled into the day care, their leader walking into the office as another closed the blinds, turning the 'Open' sign and locking the door. He took the visitor's chair and displaying his weapon with a cheery "Bonjour. You and your children are now hostages. We desire Mademoiselle Wayne and her starship." He picked up the phone, handing it to her. "Call her, Madame Fletcher, Si vous plaît."

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 12 (Quidditch team): 13:03 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Minerva McGonagall flicked her wand, canceling the protective wards and interrupting the team meeting. "Miss Wayne, your presence is required in London, immediately," she said from the open doorway, adding, "Mr. Morton, you will undoubtedly wish to accompany your brother and sister."

"What's going on?" Ginny asked.

The Headmistress' lips pursed, eying the students. "There is a hostage situation," she admitted reluctantly. "The child care near Arrowhead and Greywolf has been taken (there were growls from several students), they are demanding Miss Wayne and her starship, the hostages will be released in France."

"Carson's in there!" Bill shouted, and Minerva nodded.

"We're going too," Amy said, and Sprink nodded, growling, "Bloody damned French."

"Now, we'll have none of that," Ginny said.

"Precisely," Minerva nodded. "While I can understand the feeling, I must add that Madame Maxine from Beauxbatons has already flooed, she was outraged by the news, and offers her school's full assistance. I must add that Beauxbatons is government funded, she is risking her school's closure. She waved this off, she told me it was a matter of French honour."

"Gabrielle Delacour wondered if this dispute was enough to bring down the French government," Mattie said as she packed her bag. "If this is public knowledge and government sponsored, this may do it." She shouldered her bag, "Ready, ma'am."

"Ah, there are certain conditions they attached to your presence," Minerva said. She eyed the others, then said, "Anyone else going, meet in ten minutes in the Entrance Hall."

------------------------

"We'll get Carson and the others out safely, Dad," Arthur said into a borrowed cell phone. "I'm going in with Mattie, using an invisibility spell. She's the distraction, you said they've already killed Mrs. Fletcher, the..." He looked up as the fireplace flared green, and figures stepped out of the flames. "People from Beauxbatons just arrived to help. The French magical school, in Marseilles. No, they look pissed." He heard a whine outside, looked through the front doors and added, "The _Yates_ just touched down outside. Got to go. Love to Becky and Mom." He flipped the phone closed, handing it back as Sprink, in her wolf form and Mattie appeared from the Slytherin dungeons. Sprink, Amy and the Ministry werewolves had their ears laid back, tails lowered and growled at the French visitors.

"Calm down," Mattie said, wearing heavy black robes and her running shoes as she arrived and stroked Amy's head. She eyed the French, then added, "They're just as pissed off, and they're here to help." Sprink snarled again, showing her teeth, then settled back into a half-crouch.

"'Ow did you know?" Gabrielle Delacour asked.

"Body language," Mattie replied, turning as Professor Harry arrived, holding a box and with a shimmering cloth over his arm. "Give me your wands, and take one from the box," he said. "We would prefer to capture, instead of kill, but they've already crossed that line." He eyed Mattie and the others, "Remember, you have to _mean_ the spells."

"I'll keep mine, sir," Mattie said, as Arthur popped his out, flipping it to hand to Harry Potter. Harry looked at Julie and Bill, "You two and the 'wolves are their reserve, take my Invisibility Cloak. Make sure your ankles don't show, you're small enough."

"Remember, the common areas are under CCTV, so that parents can look in on their children over the Internet," Minerva said. "Assume that you're going to be on the BBC and take the appropriate precautions against muggles seeing magic."

Professor Snape entered the hall, offering a sealed bottle to Mattie, then a small stoppered vial. "The nullifier," he offered. "The agent in the drink will take effect within ten minutes, leaving them unconscious. It can be neutralized for their interrogation by having them breathe smelling salts." As Mattie uncorked the vial, he asked, "What is the beverage?"

"Pareek't juice, sir. Has a kick like high-proof whiskey, at least for our species. It gave me my first hangover." She toasted them with "Good luck to us," as she downed the neutralizer.

------------------------

"Disillusionment charms," Gabrielle said as the _Yates_ flew south. "They will turn you transparent, invisible. We do not know if these... persons... know of magic, although we must assume they do." She turned, "You fight for family, we for the honor and soul of France. They must not be allowed to get away with this crime."

"Protect the hostages," Arthur said.

"With our very lives," another Beauxbatons student said.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
Columbus, Ohio State University Library: 08:43 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

"...continuing with our ongoing coverage of the hostage situation in London," the GNN reporter said as Maggie Morton watched. The blonde turned as a white shape appeared, hovering over the gridlocked street, packed with Metropolitan Police cars, lights flashing. "Miss Wayne's starship, or to be correct, _one_ of her starships, has arrived. Where she'll land it, I don't know. You can see the body of Mrs. Helen Fletcher, the owner of the child care facility where she was killed by the terrorists. In any event, the street is too narrow, even if the cars were cleared out." The white ship lifted, turning and floating out of the scene, a camera turned to follow it as it moved south to a traffic circle. Another camera panned over a cluster of parents, separated by a number of police in their yellow vests. It settled to land as police cleared a path, moving spectators away. A solid line of police formed a corridor as Maggie's cell phone rang.

Caller ID had her daughter Teela, she said, "Yes, dear." She listened for a minute, then said, "Arthur called your father. The three of them are accompanying Mattie from school." She listened for a minute, then said, "Yes, Becky is with him. Elena and Hank called a few minutes ago. I'm watching GNN." The camera shifted to show Miss Wayne, accompanied by four snarling wolves. Her black robes flapped, showing bare legs as she stalked up the street. She stopped to talk to some plainclothes officers as her wolves formed a circle around them, Maggie told her daughter, "Arthur said that Mattie is the distraction, they'll go in and rescue the kids and capture the terrorists. No, they're accompanied by some students from the French school." She looked around, and moved away, adding quietly, "Yes, a French magical school."

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Charing Cross Child Minders, Ltd.: 13:49 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Jean-Claude smiled to himself as he watched the television coverage. The small blond American boy sniffled in his chair, a few good blows had his cries stopped. The intelligence he had received from DGSE had been superb, he had struck a blow for France. Soon, France would once again rule a mighty empire. He smiled to himself and leaned forward, watching the television as the boy sniffled.

------------------------

Mattie stopped, next to the body and removed her outer robes, carefully draping them over Mrs. Fletcher's corpse. In accordance with the terrorist's instructions, she wore a sheer dressing gown over a rather brief negligee. Pulling off her running shoes, she slipped on the high-heeled slippers she had been instructed to wear, then looked over her shoulder as the press watched and cameras whirred from across the street.

"He's not answering, Miss Wayne," one of the bobbies called. Pulling her thin robe closer, she shivered, then replied, "I'm not catching pneumonia while he jerks off. We've met his deadline, he said if I didn't show he'd kill the kids. So where the hell is he?" The bobby raised his hands in a 'Who knows' gesture as he tried again.

------------------------

Jean-Claude was bothered by... what was that sound? He pulled himself from his fantasy and concentrated... oh, yes, the telephone. Grabbing the handset, he snarled, "Oui?"

"Miss Wayne is outside, dressed as you requested and on time," the voice replied in perfect French. "We have been trying to..." he snarled and hung up, then shoved himself to his feet, tucking his gun into his waistband.

"Come on," he shouted at the young boy, grabbing him by the ear as the nuns had done while he was growing up. Well, he'd show them, he'd have to find that old nun, use the ruler on HER as he pulled his hostage down the stairs, the boy's shirt collar now firmly in his grip.

------------------------

"Heat sources moving down the stairs," Mattie heard in her earpiece, disguised as an earring. "100 kilos, probably one of the terrorists, and a smaller one, about 20 kilos, probably one of the kids."

"Copy two heat sources," she replied, knowing that a shotgun mike would pick it up. After a minute, the terrorist who had shot Mrs. Fletcher appeared in the doorway, together with his hostage. Mattie crouched, held out her arms, and called softly, "Carson, it's Aunt Mattie." With a cry, he broke away and ran into her arms, she scooped him up as the terrorist aimed his gun at her. She glowered at him, not moving forward as the door was held open, then turned her attention to the crying little boy, murmuring to him as the gun was pointed at her head. As she soothed him, examining the belt of explosives he wore, she said softly to the terrorist in French, "Déposer les armes, vous aurez vécu pour voir le lever du soleil demain." (Put down the gun, you'll live to see tomorrow's sunrise.)

"Pourquoi devrais-je? Tout se passe mon chemin." (Why should I? Everything is going my way,) he replied smugly. "Vous êtes l'un avec un fusil à la tête, pas I." (You're the one with a gun to their head, not I.) He added sarcastically in English, "Your accent is terrible."

"Tu es celle qui a nui à mon neveu, ma famille. J'ai donné une chance," (You're the one that has harmed my nephew, my family. I've given you a chance,) she replied, wiping a dried trickle of blood from Carson's cheek as she shifted Carson to her left hip.

"Very generous, Mademoiselle Wayne," he said mockingly. He pulled a small remote from a pocket, displaying it to the television cameras across the street. "This will explode the boy's belt, killing you both. I require your wand, yours and, I am sure, that of your boyfriend Monsieur Morton, who is close at hand."

"What do you mean?" she asked, stalling for time.

"Your wands, Mademoiselle and Monsieur. You are witch and wizard, I require your wands or I press the button to explode the belt." He ignored the press, adding "Five seconds. Four. Three. Two..."

"All right," Mattie said, and shifted Carson slightly on her hip, making her wand appear from nowhere, just as Arthur appeared out of thin air. This caused even more commentary in the press, when she asked, "Do you know how to use one?"

"But of course," he said, holding out his hand, thumb on the button. Reluctantly, she flipped it and passed it to him. Dropping the remote in a pocket, he said, "Merci. This is a beautiful wand, what is its core?"

"Nightmare," she said softly, and he tutted. "Louder, please, for all to hear. What is the magical core?"

Taking a breath, she said, "A hair from a nightmare." Even more cameras whirred.

"Excellent," he said. "And as far as my being able to use it," he twirled the wand, "_Avada Kedavra_!" he shouted, and a bolt of green light flashed out, and a body flew through the air.

------------------------

Bill Morton remembered Mattie telling the assault group on the flight that she would keep the door open as long as possible, while Arthur and the French girl Gabrielle would back her up. He looked up at Julie, crouched with him under Professor Potter's invisibility cloak, silencing charms on them, as they maneuvered past the terrorist. They were close enough to smell his sweat, to hear his shouts.

He was tempted to stay, but Julie pulled at his arm, they were up against adult wizarding terrorists, their best chances lay in numbers. He was glad the rest of the Quidditch team had volunteered to go, together with the French students, they should be able to do it. The plan was to stun all the adults, they didn't know if there were plants, Trojan horses mixed in, so they would take no chances. Once they cleared a room, they would use a locking charm on the door. If kids were in there, they'd put a ward on the door after locking it.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
Columbus, Ohio State University Library: 09:23 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

Maggie Morton stiffened in shock as the terrorist casually killed in front of the world's press. She saw one of the circling werewolves fly through the air, changing in midair to a middle-aged man, who thumped to the ground as Miss Wayne shouted "Eric!" and the others paused in shock. They sat back and howled their grief as the terrorist smirked, the howls of grief and rage expanding outward. He did a half-bow, "Ladies and gentlemen, the _real_ werewolves of London."

"Oh, those French bastards are going to get it," Stephanie said, appearing at Maggie's side as her co-workers glanced sideways at her. "We got your back, Mrs. M," she added.

"What about Carson, my grandson," she demanded, making a small motion to the television.

Stephanie shrugged, "We'll find out, but four hundred years of hiding are out the window," she added.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Charing Cross Child Minders, Ltd.: 14:24 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"And now, Monsieur Morton, I require your wand," the terrorist said as he studied the howling wolves. "Need I repeat my threats?"

"No," Arthur said, popping a wand from his sleeve and handing it over. He added, "Left handed, you see."

Mattie, who knew he wasn't, prepared to move by whispering to Carson, "Hold tight, dear," as she juggled him on her hip. He responded by clutching her tightly.

"Merci," the terrorist said, inspecting it. "Serviceable," he admitted. "If not as pretty." He shifted position, the gun still held outstretched pointing at Mattie as he shoved Arthur's wand in his belt. Left handed, he held up Mattie's wand, and snapped it in half, tossing it back to her. As she caught it, he drew Arthur's, pointing at a creeping Crystal, who was approaching, ears back and tail down, snarling silently and said, "Naughty puppy. I have no newspaper to hand, so I must do this, '_Crucio_!'"

Instead of the expected bolt of red light, the Weasley trick wand turned into a squawking, struggling chicken in his hand, and at that instant of shock, Mattie took two quick steps forward, seizing his gun hand, forcing it up with her left hand while her right swung up to break his elbow. Pivoting on her foot, she pulled him forward into a kick. Arthur popped out another wand, summoning the remote while Gabrielle appeared (to more camera clicking), shouting in a French accent, '_Stupify_!'

As Jean-Claude thudded to the pavement, she tossed her head, dismissing him with an "Eediot." She approached Mattie and Carson as Arthur knelt next to them. As he clung tightly to Mattie, she said softly, "Bonjour. I am Gabrielle, a friend of Mademoiselle Wayne. May I see you?"

"We're right here, Carson," Arthur said as Mattie summoned Eric's wand, dropping her broken one in her robe's pocket. Slowly, the little boy turned, as they examined the explosive belt.

"There's no safety, no disarm I can see," Arthur said. "One of you summon it off him, I'll cover him with a shield spell, while you two slap it on the ground and put a couple more shields over it."

"It weel leave a hole in ze walk," Gabrielle said.

"Who cares? Concrete's cheap," Mattie nodded. "On three?"

Arthur had been working on Carson's clothes, setting his shoes aside. "Ready. One. Two. Three..."

------------------------

Bill kept an eye out as Julie cast the charm to lock the store-room door. It was a good-sized building, but they had cleared this top floor, what he thought of as the third floor, and the Brits as the second. Two of the hulking French Beaters appeared, telling them, "We are ze last. This floor is secure. We looked down, Mademoiselle Wayne is still arguing with ze bastard, but there has been anuzzer death."

"Who?" Julie asked, beating Bill's question.

"One of the werewolves, a man, I do not know him," the other replied. "Come, they have their task, we have ours," and motioned to the stairs.

------------------------

On the way down, the power suddenly died, and Julie threw off the cloak, running down the stairs, Bill and the two Beaters behind her. Shouts and screams, and the multicolored flashes of hexes flew back and forth, screams in English and French as people fought.

People traded insults in French as curses flew, shield spells appeared and vanished, and the scorch marks of misfired spells marred the white paint. A curse shattered the cable supporting a light, it dropped, the glass cutting Bill's cheek as he twisted to avoid it. A laughing French terrorist fired a cutting curse at him, Julie's shield spell almost blocking it as he twisted the other way. It cut his arm as she fell from another curse, a pungent French oath accompanied by a nasty hex from a Chaser distracting the terrorist long enough for Bill to stun him.

"'Ow is she?" the Chaser asked, as Bill knelt to check his sister.

"Stunned," he reported.

"Let me fix her cut," he said, and Bill turned to bind the terrorist and take his wand.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
Columbus, Ohio State University Library: 09:32 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

Maggie watched with the others, fretfully chewing her knuckle as she watched. She had wondered why Arthur had removed Carson's shoes and pants, setting them aside, but then she had seen the explosive belt and understood.

"... Three!" Quickly, the platinum-blonde French girl had yanked the belt, ("Summoning spell, and a nice one," Stephanie murmured beside her.) flopping it on the concrete street as Mattie spun her borrowed wand over it, the blonde casting a similar spell as Arthur leaped to the side, covering Carson with his body. There was a muffled 'BOOM' and the power went out. At that point, the camera shifted to windows where multicolored jets of light could be seen, with yelling and screaming. A paramedic accepted Carson as the other three ran for the front door.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Leaky Cauldron: 14:32 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"There! See, right on fellytision! We'll have to have the whole department obliviating people!"

"I don't think so, Doris," Arthur Weasley said with a sigh. "Because of that Frenchman demanding their wands, the Statute of Secrecy is well and truly broken."

"They should have refused," Dolores Umbridge said. "Better that than our secret getting out. I'll be filing charges against Wayne, Morton and that French girl." Her eyes glittered at the thought of confiscating the Wayne billions for the Ministry.

"Refused, Dolores?" Albus asked, his bar towel thrown over his shoulder. "The terrorist is the one that broke it, and he had already killed once, are you saying they should have let him kill a small boy?"

"If that's what it takes, Albus," Umbridge snapped. She made a throw-away gesture, "Better a muggle boy than our secret exposed."

"And yet," Arthur Weasley said, repressing his horror at her callous indifference, "We have had my sons doing magic in public, with Ministry permission, for several months. They report curiosity, but no hostility. In addition, we have different mages out and about, doing magic." He took a contemplative sip of tea, "I wonder why the terrorist bloke made a point about mentioning it. He had the explosives, he did not need to, unless his sponsors specifically instructed him to."

"An interesting point," Albus said. "Tonks and Shacklebolt from DMLE have a good rapport with their muggle counterparts, we can ask them to take part in any investigation."

"We still have Wayne, Morton and the French chit performing magic in public," Umbridge insisted. "I fully intend to file charges and see them all in Azkaban for the rest of their lives!"

"Only because the terrorist exposed them first," Arthur Weasley said.

Albus added, "You may, of course proceed on if you wish, Dolores. That is your right. However, please be aware that should you do so, I intend to represent them in the Wizengamot."

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Charing Cross Child Minders, Ltd.: 15:48 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"Coming out with kids!" The Metropolitan Police heard, and the door came open, each teenager holding two kids while the others filed between them. "The adults are unconscious upstairs," Arthur told a bobby as he held the door open. "There might be a plant, you can check them out. Wake them with smelling salts, we have to get back to school." He handed over his two kids, moving over to accept a hug from his dad and a kiss from his sister, holding Carson. Mattie (wearing Gabrielle's sky blue robes) accepted a handshake from Mr. Morton, shaking the hands of other parents and introducing Gabrielle, before turning and waving.

Gabrielle had stopped to address the cameras, briefly speaking in passionate French before waving herself and walking to the _Yates_.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Charing Cross Road: 15:51 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Sam Mullins watched as his daughter Meghan was rescued, and was carried by the teenaged French girl to the paramedics, who were quickly checking the kids out, he waited impatiently behind the ambulance they worked in. Meghan saw him, and shouted "Daddy!" and he scooped her into his arms, cradling her protectively.

"Have her checked out, mate," the paramedic called, but he only had eyes for his daughter. He turned, and almost bumped into Miss Wayne. He put out a hand to steady her, and she smiled, "Mr. Mullins, isn't it? And this is ..." she searched her memory, "...Meghan, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." He juggled his daughter, "Megs, this is Miss Wayne, can you say hello?"

"'parks," she said, a fist in her mouth.

"Yes, I made sparks," she said, making her wand appear and shooting green sparks, which she reached for. She twirled the wand ('_A real wand_!' he thought) over her fist, then pulled a gold piece from Megs' ear.

Sam looked at it, it seemed to be a fairly heavy gold coin. She grinned, "It's not real. It will turn into an acorn in an hour, leprechaun gold."

"Not like the cereal?" he asked.

"No, and elves don't live in hollow trees," she grinned. "Take care of your daddy, he's had a hard day," she instructed Meghan, then turned, only to be intercepted by another grateful parent.

------------------------

"You're the semi-mythical boyfriend," one young mother asked Arthur, her son on her hip.

"That's me," he admitted.

"Someone gives you lot a hard time," she said, "Refer them to us, please."

"Too right," a co-worker from Greywolf said, as she leaned over to give him a motherly kiss on the cheek.

------------------------

"You're the French girl," one of the parents said, a Union Jack in his lapel.

"Oui," Gabrielle said.

He looked her up and down, "I haven't had much good to say recently about the French. Seems like their government..." he eyed her, then offered his hand. "I'll shake the hand of a Frenchwoman, though."

She accepted it, "Merci. You have no idea what _we_ have been saying about the idiots in Paris."

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
Metropolis,**__Daily Planet__**, International Desk: 11:02 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

Perry White snatched his cell phone from his pocket, "White." He listened for a minute, then nodded, "You take care of yourself, and give the others a 'well done' from me. I still want to see you here this summer, Alice wants to meet Arthur." He flipped the phone closed, then strode to his British desk, "Phillips, I'm going to mail you an article I wrote earlier. I'll be using it as an editorial, but you can use it as background material." He raised his voice, "Eighty-eight minutes, people, I don't want to read about it in the _New York Times_!"

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
New York City, **__The New York Times__**: 11:05 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

"What's up, boss?"

"Koslowski, your daughter goes to school with Wayne and her bunch?" Beth nodded, and her editor said, "Terrorist incident in London, Wayne and her boyfriend Morton are outed as witch and wizard on GNN." She paled as he continued, "That logically means your daughter's a witch, which means your beat just changed. As of now, you're the_Times_ local magical reporter, I want news from the witch or wizard on the street as to what they think."

Beth nodded numbly as he stood, striding around his desk and saying softly, "Beth, I know this is a shock. If you need help, or God forbid someone gives you grief, let us know. The _Times_ is a family."

"Thanks, that means a great deal," and he gave her shoulder an awkward squeeze. As he took his chair again, he barked, "Well, what are you waiting for, a raise? Get to work!"

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, BBC Television Centre: 16:16 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"This is Simon, and you're listening to Radio Five Live!" the DJ said after the break. "The child care hostage crisis is over, two dead. One is the owner, Mrs. Fletcher, the other an un-identified male, with most surprising news. Remember, you heard it here, magic is apparently real, and one of our better-known local celebrities is apparently a witch."

"I wonder if she'll pull a rabbit out of her hat," Mark, his partner said. "The un-identified male is apparently a werewolf, or so we are told, and no, we haven't started drinking yet. In case you haven't heard it, Miss Wayne, her finally-identified boyfriend Mr. Arthur Morton, and a French girl named Gabrielle are witches and wizards."

"Apparently, the French terrorist, the one that killed both people, is a French wizard, as he killed the werewolf with a spell," Simon said. "We'll get more information as we have it, Gabrielle, the French girl, gave a rather impassioned speech. We're waiting for a translation, but for now, let's hear from you. On line one, Bethany from Lancashire, you're on Radio Five Live."

"I don't care what you, or anyone else says," a woman said. "They saved those kids' lives, I don't care if they're purple. That makes them good in my book."

"All right, let's go to line two. You're on Radio Five Live."

"It's a sin! Sinners repent, and they should burn in hell!" followed by a dial tone.

"Well, that was..."

"Expected? David from Camden, you're on Radio Five Live..."

"I want to say one thing to all the idiots out there," a man said. "I work with Miss Wayne, she's a bloody good boss, she's not afraid to pitch in and get her hands dirty. I don't have kids, but my colleagues do. She listens, she doesn't sit in an ivory tower. If anything she works too hard. I don't give a bloody rat's arse if she's a witch, and anyone that says different will need to get past me. Sod off, all you wankers!"

"Well, let's have another," Simon said. "Line two, you're on Radio Five Live."

A woman said, "Like the other bloke who just spoke, I work at Arrowhead, they pay for child care, which is bloody expensive. I don't bloody care if she's a witch, a werewolf, or one of the bleedin' ghosts! I don't care. She went in with her mates, and came out with my little Julie, and not a scratch on her. Like he said, you'll need to get past me."

"What do you mean, caller, by ghosts?" Mark asked.

"There's two ghosts that haunt Arrowhead's building," she replied. "A teenage girl, died in the Blitz, and a young boy, about six or seven. We've all seen them, they're friendly enough."

"You've actually seen ghosts at work," Simon said carefully.

"Of course, don't tell me your building doesn't have them," she replied.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, Ltd.: 16:30 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"Miss Wayne's office," Ellen said for what must be the hundredth time. Other secretaries had been recruited to answer the phones, which had been going mad. She listened to the caller start to babble, making a tally on a pad. When the caller stopped to take a breath, she quickly said, "I'm sure Miss Wayne will make an announcement. Thank you for calling," and touched the disconnect. Another line lit up again, and she said, "Miss Wayne's office..." She perked up, "Oh, hello, Miss Wayne. About what you'd expect. No, we've got a few religious types protesting outside who want to burn you at the stake, but most people think you did what you had to to save the boy's life. You must, must make some sort of a announcement about this." She nodded, "There's all the executive secretaries, must be six or seven hundred calls." She nodded, "Right-o. Thank you. I'll have a list. I'll transfer you now." She expertly touched keys, "Miss Bundy, Miss Wayne for you. Thank you. No, I think we're good now." She disconnected, then said to the group, "Miss Bundy the elder will be by in a few minutes with some cash. At five, we are to go down to Greywolf's pub, eat and drink on Miss Wayne's shilling, and she'll pay for our taxis home. For our information only, she is trying to arrange with some..." (she hesitated) "...some wizards for a press conference on Tuesday afternoon. Apparently some of them do not have telephones."

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
London, Metropolitan Police (New Scotland Yard): 16:37 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"Homicide," Mike answered the phone, then said, "Bloody hell, yes! Give them a visitors' badge, I'll be down in a tick." Amanda looked up, he said, "Kingsley and Tonks are downstairs, I'll go bring them up, can you let the leftenent know?"

"I'll even pour the tea," she said, shoving her chair back.

------------------------

"So, you two are wizards," the petite, dark-skinned Lt. Castille said, examining Kingsley's ID.

"We are," he rumbled in his slow drawl, as Tonks' hair changed color and style. Her bright green mohawk clashed horribly with her wool suit. "As things are now somewhat out in the open, we have been authorized to offer our assistance. Unfortunately, our French colleagues are being unusually close-mouthed about the identities of the terrorists."

"As is the French national police," she replied. "What do you require?"

"Equal access to your data," Tonks said, her hair now a cascade down her back, and bright blue. "You have the resources we don't. Your coroner won't know how to determine Eric's cause-of-death." She tossed over a file folder, "He was one of ours, ma'am, and we want these bastards. We'll take a step back in order to make sure of it."

"He was..."

"DMLE, one of the Ministry werewolves," Kingsley rumbled. "We don't care who ordered this, even if it leads to the President of France."

Lt. Sydney Castille passed Kingsley's ID back. "We need to interview Miss Wayne and her colleagues. Do you know where they were headed?"

"Hogwarts, I believe," Tonks said. "Her school in Scotland. We'll give the Headmistress a ring and have them held there, we can muster a few more to meet us there." Castille nodded, Tonks adding, "How quickly can we get to Charing Cross?"

------------------------

"You step _into_ the fire," Mike said carefully, eying Tonks.

She nodded, "Safe as houses. Just be sure to speak clearly after you've thrown the floo powder, like this: 'Hogwarts Entrance Hall!'." She stepped into the green flames, and was gone.

"Perfectly safe," Kingsley said, and gestured to the fire. Mike still hesitated, and Amanda said, "Oh, bloody hell. Is this enough?" she asked, showing a bit of floo powder.

"More than enough."

"You only live once," she shrugged, and tossed the powder. "Hogwarts Entrance Hall!" and was gone.

Kingsley calmly motioned again, and Mike took a deep breath, "Bloody HELL! Hogwarts Entrance Hall!" and was gone.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall: 16:53 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"First time through the Floo?" Mike shook his head to clear it, and saw a teenage girl with a brush. She smiled, "Don't think you remember me, I'm Nymphy's sister Sprink. Let me dust you off."

"Thank you," he said, then turned as one of the stone staircases moved, leaving a platform hanging in midair, several floors up. He felt the brush, Sprink commenting, "If you want to go walking about, take one of us with you. We know where the trick stairs are." She hung the brush on a nail by the side of the fireplace, "Headmistress McGonagall has set aside Classroom 14, this way, please."

As they walked, Mike asked, "Where are we?"

"Scotland," was the reply as they walked down a short corridor, Sprink tapping on the door with her wand. About two dozen students waited inside, along with half a dozen wizards Mike didn't know. He turned as Kingsley walked in behind him, followed by an ancient white-haired wizard. He took a deep breath, and took a chair next to one of the students, placing his note pad on the desk.

"Hello," the boy said with a Yank accent. "I'm Bill Morton, and we're supposed to cast a privacy spell for this interview, although," he looked embarrassed, "I could really use the loo, if you don't mind."

Mike chuckled, "This all came rather fast, didn't it? I wouldn't mind disposing of some tea, myself. Can you show me where?"

"This way," and Bill walked rather quickly to the door, where he murmured 'Loo' to the fellow standing guard, a fellow in his early twenties with green eyes and messy black hair. He smirked in amusement as Mike followed him.

------------------------

"Professor Lupin," Bill asked as he washed his hands, "What was the largest muggle exposure?"

"That would have been the Ilfracombe incident in Devon, 1932," the history professor said, then sighed and zipped. "We haven't covered the twentieth century yet, Mr. Morton. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I think you've had another one," Mike said as he finished, sighing in his turn. He walked to the sinks as he introduced himself as 'Scotland Yard, Homicide'.

"Pleased, I think," Remus said, as he raised his hands from the sink. "What's happened, and how is it worse than a dragon overflying a beach full of muggles on holiday?"

"Murder by spell on global telly," and Remus' knees buckled. "Oh, Merlin," he said softly.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2002:  
Paris, Élysée Palace, Presidential offices: 18:05 (GMT 1)**_  
------------------------

"Mon Président, je dois signaler un succès partiel," (My President, I must report a partial success), the head of DGSE reported. "Bien que nous n'ayons pas le vaisseau, nous avons endommagé Miss Wayne's compagnie, Arrowhead. It's stock tombe, et nous pouvons l'acheter et de la technologie, à moindre frais." (While we do not have the starship, we have damaged Miss Wayne's company, Arrowhead. It's stock will fall, and we can buy it, and the technology, cheaply.)

"Si c'est le mieux que vous puissiez faire," (If that's the best you can do), the President said, looking up from his desk. "Que le discours de l'écolière a donné? Elle évoque la liberté, la justice, fraternité. Quelles sont les chances de votre agents de pause?" (What of the speech the schoolgirl gave? She evoked Liberty, Justice, Fraternity. What are the chances your agents will break?)

"Elle n'est qu'une écolière," (She is only a schoolgirl), he said dismissively. "Elle n'est pas un Etat, et les gens nous ont été envoyées jetables. Nous allons nier toute connaissance de ceux-ci, les Anglais peuvent en avoir." (She is not a statesman, and the people we sent were disposable. We will deny any knowledge of them, the English can have them.)

The President waved his hand in dismissal. "Puis, je ne me suis préoccupé avec elle. Je vais vous voir de nouveau le mercredi, comme d'habitude?" (Then I will not concern myself with it. I shall see you again on Wednesday, as usual?)

"Bien sûr. Tout est sous contrôle," (Of course. Everything is under control,) the head of DGSE replied, and left at the President's wave.

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 15, 2391:  
Luna, Port Grimaldi, Cassidy Yates' apartment: Hour 34/708**_  
------------------------

Cassidy sighed, reading the birthday letter her Gran had sent her all those years ago, and set it on the wicker table, looking out at Luna's barren beauty, illuminated by the new Earthshine. Picking up her datapadd, she idly keyed in a history search for this day, "I wonder what she's been doing today."

"Hmm," she mused. "I'd forgotten about that." She shifted a bit in the wicker chair, thinking, '_History credits her with the instigation of the Sixth French Republic, but really, she didn't have that much to do with it. I wish I had brought her journals with me from home_,' and made a mental note to do so.

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 16, 2002:  
London,**__The Wizarding Reporter__**: 06:15 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Lois looked at the banner headline of her newspaper: **EXPOSED**. She frowned a bit at Cynthia McKinnon's article about the Ministry, Umbridge was making a damned fool of herself again, but McKinnon was still too intimidated to call her on that. There was no way anyone with any sense would blame Wayne or Morton (who she rather liked) for the terrorist 'outing' them, especially with small children at risk. However, Umbridge had political support among the conservative pure-bloods. She needed Rottweilers for reporters, especially hard news, and most of what she had were poodles. '_TOY__poodles_,' she thought. '_I wonder if Minerva would be interested in a student newspaper, or if we could get some of the London journalism grads now_.'

'_Later_,' she told herself. '_Time to call the newswires_.'

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 16, 2002:  
Metropolis,**__Daily Planet__**: 06:12 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

Perry White looked at the banner headline above the fold: **MAGIC!** It shouted in bold type. Below that, in slightly smaller type, were the two words: _**It's real!**_ He nodded, putting it down and smirking at the much less impressive headline of their arch-rival _New York Times_. Lois had done her usual virtuoso job, mailing in several stories which (after her usual spell-checking), had gone straight into the special edition.

He picked up the _Times_, and noted their new beat reporter, Koslowski. '_Good job_,' he thought. '_I wonder if I can steal her away for the Planet_?'

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 16, 2002:  
New York City, **__The New York Times__**: 06:15 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

Beth Koslowski nodded in satisfaction at her first regular column. She had to talk to her editor about getting the _Wizarding Reporter_, as far as she knew they weren't AP or UPI, or even Reuters. She was rather pissed that Lois Lane, having a lock on Superman stories, was now trying to trump her on the wizarding beat. '_Not in my town_!' she thought savagely, and started to go through her Rolodex™. '_At least I can spell_!' she thought, then looked up at several owls that were tapping on her window, and swearing a bit at the old crank, opened the window. '_Who here would have some WD-40_?' she wondered.

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 16, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table: 06:30 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Charlie looked at the _Reporter_, then across at Arthur, who was engrossed in his homework. "So this is where you skive off to," he said jokingly. Charlie folded the paper back, and tossed it over, the banner headline reading: **EXPOSED**.

"I would much rather have not," he replied. "But Carson..."

"No one's blaming you, with the possible exception of that bitch Umbridge," one of the sixth-years said. "You're in her sights, best thing to do is hire a solicitor or three. She loves to throw people in Azkaban."

"Joy and happiness," Arthur said morosely, turning the page.

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, March 19, 2002:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, conference room: 12:27 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Terry Schorr passed through Arrowhead's security, fishing out a card to drop into the fishbowl labeled 'First Question'. It was already half full, he found a seat next to Andre Paul from _Reuters_. They traded inconsequential chit-chat, neither wanting to reveal any information. They were semi-friends, but they were also competitors. He noticed Lois Lane toward the front of the room, he hadn't seen her for a while, and wondered what she was doing here.

The room had changed from before, when he had covered Arrowhead for the_Financial Times_. Instead of the normal centered podium, there was now a long, white-covered table with (he counted) eight chairs and the usual ice water carafes and glasses. Unusually, Miss Wayne had not worked the room, and there was no buffet, as his stomach reminded him. As several more people came into the room, he looked up as Miss Wayne rapped on the microphone, "Good afternoon, let's get started, please." Miss Wayne had simply, silently appeared, along with the others, who silently took their seats.

She tapped the microphone again, "As is normal, supporting documentation for the press is available from Arrowhead's web site, you can log in as you normally do and download supplemental material. We are doing a pool feed, let me introduce people. Starting at my left, we have Lt. Sydney Castille of the Metropolitan Police, Homicide Division. She will answer questions regarding the terrorist incident on Friday. I will answer questions regarding... (there was a faint hesitation) ... magic off planet and in the wider galaxy."

There was a ripple of comment that she ignored, continuing with, "First on my right, Madame Fleur, general interaction with the muggle world." Cameras focused on the beautiful platinum blonde as Mattie paused for a second, "Muggle refers to the non-magic using population. Madame Fleur is indeed French, I have no complaint with French citizens. Continuing down, to her right is Mr. Harry Potter, who will answer general questions about the wizarding community in Great Britain." Harry smiled and waved as she continued. "To his right is Minister Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic." Rufus did indeed look somewhat like a lion, with his blond mane sprinkled with white. He was also the only one wearing robes instead of a business suit.

Continuing, Mattie said, "The Minister will answer questions regarding government. To his right is Professor Remus Lupin, who will cover history." Despite Mattie and Ginny's best efforts, he still looked rumpled. She continued, "To the professor's right, someone you may have heard of, the Mage Merlin Ambrosius." Cameras swiveled from Fleur to the brown-haired man sitting calmly in a business suit. Mattie concluded, "And finally, to Mage Merlin's right..."

"Just Merlin, please. I'm nobody special."

"Certainly. To Merlin's right is Mage Zatanna Zatara." Zee smiled, dressed in a conservative skirted navy pinstripe suit. Mattie finished off the introductions, "Let's get started. For everyone's convenience, translation spells are in effect, and the room and building are warded. When you entered, you placed a business card in the bowl for first question, Fleur, would you do the honors?" she asked, passing the microphone over.

"Oui," and waved her wand, the fishbowl containing their business cards zoomed into her hand. Setting it down, she riffled through them, extracting one. "Bien, I have Andre Paul from Reuters. Your question?"

Cameras swiveled to Terry's neighbor, who said, "I'm not certain who this would go to. What is the extent of the magical economy, and how much have you invested in it, Miss Wayne?"

There was a brief bit of confusion, then heads turned as Rufus summoned the microphone, answering gruffly, "The gross wizarding economy is approximately 83 billion galleons," then set the microphone down.

Mattie drew her borrowed wand, summoning the microphone, "I'll answer the second part. As of the close of yesterday's business, I'm invested to a little over 270 million galleons in different countries, at the current exchange rate, that's just under 1.5 billion pounds." She smiled, "What the Minister, ah, forgot to mention, is that things work just a bit differently, business transactions go through the central bank, Gringotts, which would transfer things like taxes to the Exchequer." She smiled down the table, "The wizarding economy is a bit of a sore point with the British Ministry," Remus and Harry snorting and nodding, Rufus shooting them a poisonous glare. Mattie continued, "If I wanted to invest in a company, or buy land, or anything of that nature, I would sit down with the other party in a conference room, negotiate a contract, and Gringotts would handle the financial transactions as well as guarantee the contract was legal. Yes, they take a handling fee, I think that's perfectly reasonable. They have to put bread on the table, too. They are also running the financial networks in the Terran system. Next question?"

------------------------

Eddie turned to Selina, somewhat aggrieved, asking, "What else haven't you told me?"

"It wasn't my secret," she replied, setting her wine glass down and leaning back. "Just like I don't give up yours. Aurora wanted me to spill the beans on you, but all I told her was that you were a retired engineer. Now, however..." she gestured to the television, on which her daughter was fielding a question, "...I can offer you a trip to her school, Hogwarts. I'm planning to go in April, for the Easter break, and you can come along, if you've finished clearing out your lairs."

"A few more to go," he admitted, as GNN resumed coverage.

------------------------

Maggie Morton watched the news conference as her future daughter-in-law fielded another question, passing it to the Potter fellow. As people paused for a second, the Merlin fellow leaned forward, asking, "Miss Wayne, do you have your broken wand? I'd like to see it."

She passed it down, "It's served me well, but I've already ordered a replacement, sir." He waved that off, studying it intently as it floated in midair before him. Another reporter popped up, identified as 'Lois Lane, Daily Planet', and asked, "Miss Wayne, you hesitated earlier when you mentioned 'off planet' magic. Could you expand on that?"

------------------------

Terry Schorr nodded to himself, Lane had an excellent open-ended question. He was certain Wayne knew that, as she smiled faintly, "Thank you, Ms. Lane. We have admittedly a very limited sample size, however for those witches and wizards who have gone into space, visited other planets and stars, the results seem to bear out that magic requires a certain amount of mass and natural gravity to function. Let me give an example. Magic does work on the moon, we have used it there to break the rather nasty lycanthropy curse, however it is not a cure. It does work to a limited extent on asteroids such as Ceres and Eunomia. Smaller asteroids it does not, so it seems to be pro-rated to a degree. Spacecraft and space stations, such as the massive space station in orbit around Beta Lyrae, it does not work, even though that station, which has a radius of fifty kilometers, masses what a small asteroid does. Therefore, you seem to require gravity, not the simulated gravity rotation gives you."

"Follow-up question," Lane said. "You mentioned the lycanthropy curse is broken by the moon. What are some others?"

"The werewolves watching this will be happy to hear that physical contact with the moon seems to eliminate the dementia they suffer, although they are still forced to transform every full moon. That's not simply handling a moon rock. We have a pressurized chamber that they go into at a full moon and transform, which seems to do the trick. The consensus seems to be that it's a worthwhile trade. We are still funding efforts to find a complete cure." She took a sip of water, then continued, "There is another curse that is far more widespread, and we have better sample data on this. As you know, before we came along, the only females in orbit had been in low earth orbit, there hadn't been any women in the Apollo program. I'm sure that every girl and woman watching is familiar with the monthly 'curse' (she finger-quoted) of Auntie Flo's visit." She leaned forward, "Ladies, go past the moon, and there is no curse." The room exploded in noise, as Wayne sat back down, a small smile on her face.

------------------------

Teela Morton looked at the TV in shock, as one of her classmates said, "You never mentioned this, Tee."

"I haven't gone past the moon," she said, then waved the others down, "Mattie's going to continue." As they quieted, on the screen Mattie said, "Let me give some background. We first noticed this with the rescued slaves in our resettlement program. While some had been forcefully sterilized, others had not, and were simply locked away, they were fully fertile. In addition, the female members of the Solar Guard, including myself, noticed that they weren't experiencing their monthly periods, yet they still seemed to be fertile. Three of them have since become pregnant, these are possibly the most closely monitored pregnancies in history."

She took a sip of water, then continued, "The limit seems to be the Moon's orbit. We don't know if there actually IS a monolith in Tycho crater," and people laughed. She grinned, "However, passing the moon's orbit for at least a month does seem to be an 'off' switch. While our sample data is still limited to about a hundred females who have spent time outside the moon's orbit, it does seem to be consistent. Our theory is that the species, they're generally called 'The Preservers,' planted us here millions of years ago, didn't know which species of ape was going to survive and prosper. However, apes and man seem to be the only ones that suffer menses. Other humanoid species, and they are very widespread in this galaxy, do not do so."

Taking another sip of water, she asked, "Next question?"

------------------------

Terry stood and asked, "Miss Wayne, the _Financial Times_ would like to know how you plan to continue, given the drop in stock price that Arrowhead suffered in yesterday's market."

"I love the pink paper," she said with a smile. "You have a great product. To answer, I am fully confident in our people and their abilities. You will notice that I took the opportunity to buy another three hundred thousand shares of common stock. I predict that companies and government agencies will take this opportunity to bring their wizarding staff out from the broom cupboard. Pun intended."

Another reporter stood, "Melinda Tabard, _US Magazine_. Is it really true that witches ride broomsticks?"

Harry Potter leaned forward, "Not only witches, but wizards. There are all sorts of brooms, from toy models for kids that won't go higher than about a meter, to racing and family brooms." He glanced to his right, "Minister, I've never heard a good reason why flying carpets are banned."

Minister Scrimgeour grunted, "They are. You don't need to know why."

Remus put in, "The only reason I can think of is protectionism for British broom manufacturers."

Melinda asked, "Do you have one, could we see one?"

"Since we're being so open..." Harry said with a grin, pulling one out of his pocket. "I shrank mine down," he added, and enlarged it. "UP!" he told it, and it floated waist high. He straddled it, then motioned to Melinda, adding to her, "I'm happily married, now, so don't take this the wrong way. Just like riding a motorbike, get on behind." She carefully clambered on, clutching him tightly, as he gently kicked off. Flying just below the ceiling, he circled the room twice, then set down next to her chair. She climbed off, then quickly leaned forward to kiss him.

"You're dead now, Harry," Remus joked. "Ginny isn't going to like that. You're going to sleep on the sofa tonight." The assorted husbands in the room chuckled, as Fleur said, "You deserved that, Harry." Now it was the women's turn to grin. Lois Lane took the chance to ask, "We haven't heard about the investigation, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Castille said, "We appreciate the assistance of certain wizards, but one thing we need is forensic support. We have no idea how the, um, werewolf died."

Wayne leaned forward, "Eric, Lieutenant. His name was Eric. His lycanthropy was a medical condition. I can tell you the killing curse stops all electrical activity in the body." She turned, "Minister Scrimgeour, I was told that full co-operation was extended. If Lt. Castille is missing something she needs to complete her investigation, if you won't supply it, I will." Her tone was cold, she turned to the Homicide Lieutenant, pulling out a business card and writing a number on the back. Pro-offering it, "Lieutenant, this is my private mobile number. Following the law, I want whoever authorized this operation arrested. I want them tried and convicted. I want their head on a silver platter, with a side of potatoes and garlic in their teeth. They murdered two good people, and if you need something, somewhere on this planet, in this system, or in this galaxy to obtain this conviction, let me know. I don't care where your investigation leads, including," (she paused, turning to the cameras), "Élysée Palace, in the heart of Paris."

------------------------

"Zat ees a declaration," Fleur said.

"Yes, it is, although I am not as gifted with words as your sister," Wayne replied, then added in French, "Je tiens à être très clair à ce sujet. Je n'ai aucune plainte auprès du peuple français. Je me réjouis de leur participation, nous avons beaucoup à faire. Cependant, je ne vais pas tout simplement à se connecter sur le gouvernement, à Paris, à Washington ou d'ailleurs. Nous devons partager, c'est ce que j'ai besoin de la part du gouvernement. Comment vous convaincre votre gouvernement à faire c'est à vous de décider." (I want to be very clear on this. I have no complaint with the French people. I welcome their participation, we have a great deal to do. However, I will not simply sign everything over to the government in Paris, or in Washington, for that matter. We must share, that is what I require from the government. How you convince your government to do that is up to you.)

"Once you have zis agreement?" Fleur asked.

"We share, we build on each other's work," Wayne replied. "Open source. Everything from replicators to FTL communications, power systems, metallurgy, navigation..."

"Did you say FTL?" a reporter asked, "As in Faster-Than-Light?"

"Yep," Wayne replied. "We've orbited survey satellites around every planet and moon but Mars and its two moons, where we have legal, shall we say, challenges. We have existing FTL communications networks, we're building the system sensor net, part of the infrastructure and the economy to move off-planet, where we aren't limited by resources. So far, our major problems are computers to drive food replicators and FTL drives. We can build copies of those drives, but they're limited to about ten gees acceleration. Otherwise, it turns the crew into strawberry jam. We need to figure out inertial compensation, and the company, or the university, that cracks that will find itself sitting on a nice patent, like the Cuban government is with antigravity. We pay licenses, and we enforce patent law. If we reverse engineer some bit of tech, we go through a triple-blind system."

------------------------

"Miss Wayne," and she turned, catching her no-longer-broken wand. She looked at it, then looked back up, "How..." she asked. "I tried '_Reparo_' on it, it didn't work. How..."

"I'm Merlin," he said with a shrug.

"Can we see some magic?" someone called.

"Very well," Merlin said, stroking his chin. "I know! This is always a good one," he confided, and pulled a gold coin out of thin air. He seemed puzzled by the groans.

Harry stood up, "I'll need a volunteer from the audience," and covered his eyes, "Eeeny, miney, moe," and pointed to Terry. "Come on down, mate. Won't hurt a bit. Much." There was a nervous chuckle, and Harry smiled. "We have no existing arrangement, we don't know each other from Adam, right?" Terry nodded, Harry said, "It's very simple, mate. Pick any one of these water glasses, or pitchers, and tell us what it's made of."

"Glass."

"Have a drink, just plain ice water, right?" Terry nodded. "Good. Drop the glass on the floor, please. We want it to break."

Holding it out, it slipped through his fingers, where it landed with a small 'thud' but didn't break. Harry leaned over the table, "Oops. Carpet. Sorry about this, Miss Wayne," to general chuckles, and drew his wand. Terry took a step back as a circle was cut in the carpet, he was asked, "Try again, mate."

crash Harry let the cameras view the broken pieces before he said, "I'm a poor guest, breaking Miss Wayne's crockery. I need to put things right," and pointed his wand, '_Reparo_!' The glass reassembled itself, and with a flick of his wand, it floated back to Terry.

"You men think that's all it is to cleaning up the mess?" a grinning Zatanna said, before standing and pointing her wand, '_Evansco_!' and the sodden carpet was dry again. Another flick and the carpet was whole, again.

"If you lot are QUITE through breaking up my office," Miss Wayne said with a grin. "Next question, please?"

"Kim Oldman, _Daily Globe_," one reporter quickly said, standing. "I've a question for Mr. Merlin. There are stories about a Merlin in the Arthurian legends of the fifth century. How are you connected with those legends?"

"I remember Guenevere, such a lovely young lady..." he reminisced. "Hair was blonde, a bit like yours, my dear..."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, March 19, 2002:  
Paris, Élysée Palace, Presidential offices: 12:50 (GMT 1)**_  
------------------------

As he watched the news conference on GNN, the President became angry, "Elle m'accuse, ME, du meurtre que racaille! Elle ne le savez, je suis le président de la France!" (She accuses me, ME, of murdering that rabble! Doesn't she know, I am the President of France!)

"Je ne crois pas qu'elle se soucie, un de ses amis est mort," (I do not think she cares, a friend of hers is dead), the head of DGSE said calmly. "Ne soyez pas concernés, la protection sur le palais est le meilleur au monde." (Do not be concerned, the protection about the palace is the best in the world.) He reflected privately, '_Bien que, à proprement parler, nous sommes coupables de cela_.' ('_Although, strictly speaking, we are guilty of this_.') He dismissed the thought, he was concerned with France.

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, March 19, 2002:**__**  
London, Deptford, 192 Croft St.: 13:45 (GMT)**__**  
**_------------------------

Someone knocked on the door, Bill muted the TV and got up from where he was watching the news conference, calling, "Who is it?"

"Pam and Kristin, we're alone." He undid the locks, and ushered them in. Pam was carrying a cricket bat, she offered it to him, "We thought you might like a bit of company."

"Thanks, I have no idea how this is going to play out." He gestured to the small kitchenette, "Would you like a cuppa?"

"I'll do, I need something to do," Kristin said. Bill topped off his coffee as she prepared tea. Pam had un-muted the sound and lowered it, she sat on the floor watching the telly. "How are things, really?" Kristin asked softly.

Bill sighed, "I wish Merlin hadn't made that gold coin appear, all the nut-jobs will come out of the woodwork thinking we can conjure money." He shrugged, "I can't conjure a thing, it's a recessive gene, from what I understand. From what Arthur says, even Mattie has trouble with spell work, she still thinks like an engineer. She's more of a politician, anyway."

"What's she like, really?" Kristin had a mug of tea in each hand, she handed one down to her flat-mate, who nodded in thanks.

"Focused," he said after a minute. "Also really, really tired, she puts in a truly hectic schedule. I still don't know what her ultimate goal is, I understand not even her mother does." He snorted and took a gulp of coffee, "Who knows, maybe Superman does."

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, March 20, 2002:  
Gotham City, Cresswell Academy, room 46: 13:30 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

The bell rang, signaling the start of afternoon classes, and Olivia Reynolds rapped on the lectern. "Ladies, you know what that bell means!" she called, and the chatter died down as much as it ever did. She quickly took attendance, then flipped the file folder closed. She walked back and forth, then said, "We saw, or heard of, the terrorist incident in London last week. As part of that, we learned that a young lady that formerly attended our school, Miss Wayne, is a witch."

"I remember that little bitch," Annalisa Ford said in a stage whisper.

"Miss Ford," Ms. Reynolds warned. "Now that magic is out in the open, I have prevailed upon Mrs. Wayne to forward a letter to her daughter. Your homework for this Social Studies class is to write three questions of Miss Wayne." She glowered at a couple of her troublemakers, "I will screen the questions, as will Mrs. Wayne. They need not deal with magic, or witchcraft. Remember, Miss Wayne is also a billionaire, the head of the Solar Guard, and CEO of Arrowhead Investments. That should give you plentiful material for three good questions. You may also ask relevant personal information, I do _not_ want a question about her bra size."

"28A," Annalisa stage-whispered. "It's all padding."

"Miss Ford," Olivia said again, "Please be quiet, unless you have something to contribute."

"That was relevant, ma'am, it has to do with biology," Annalisa protested, then ruined it by giggling. Olivia repressed a sigh, continuing, "Email your questions, I want them by Friday morning, if I don't have them in my email by twelve noon, you'll fail the homework, which is, as you know by now, twenty percent of your grade. I will forward them to Mrs. Wayne, after reviewing them." She glared at a gossiping Annalisa, "Miss Ford, do you have something to share with the class?"

"No, ma'am."

"Right..." Olivia said. "Since you have time to gossip, Miss Ford, I must assume you have completed my assignment." She waggled her fingers, "Give it here," she said.

"I don't have them written, ma'am, they're in my head."

"Then you don't mind sharing them with the class," Olivia said, and motioned to the chalkboard. Annalisa sauntered to the board, and wrote:

_1- How big is your boyfriend's... _

"No," Olivia said. "Start over."

_1- Do you have warts on... _

"No, try again, Miss Ford."

_1- How long was your first o... _

"Third strike, Miss Ford. Erase the board, stay after for detention." Annalisa swiped at the questions, then walked behind her teacher, sticking her tongue out. "I saw that, Miss Ford. Nine questions that I approve of, and a week's detention."

"I'll miss practice," she whined.

"Tough. They'll have to get along without your talents at midfield. Sit down, Miss Ford, you've exercised your voice enough. No, not in your chair, against the wall." Annalisa grabbed her books and purse, and flounced over to the one chair against the wall. She slammed them down, as Olivia said, "I will expect to see you tonight at seven sharp, Miss Ford." Annalisa simmered as Olivia continued, "We know now that there are billions of stars in our galaxy, and hundreds, if not thousands of intelligent alien races. For your term paper, which is due the end of May, I want you to postulate on an alien civilization. You may assume a terrestrial environment with a variance of ten percent. That means hotter or colder, wetter or drier, and whatever social system would fit that environment." She sat on a table, "You may have a planet full of intelligent dinosaurs, but the ecosystem must be able to support it. If you assume a marine environment, with intelligent dolphins, explain it. I want to see your outlines April first, if you want to use Arrowhead's databases, let me know, I'll get you an account there." She crossed her ankles, "They already have star maps for the galaxy, just our sector is several thousand stars. Astronomers all over the world are cross-referencing our data to theirs, and translating our system of co-ordinates to the galactic standard." Olivia gently swung her ankles, "Let's speculate. We know there is an intelligent race of Wookies, how did they develop? What is their homeworld like? Who would they trade with?"

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 23, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Classroom 12 (Quidditch team): 07:38 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"Was there anything else needed discussion?" Ginny asked the team. Mattie raised her hand, "Not about the team, but my former muggle school had some questions. The teacher and my mom reviewed them, but there's more than I have time to answer. If you lot are agreeable, I'll forward the list to the group's email."

"What are some of the questions?" Professor Snape asked. Mattie pulled out a printout, "Some are Arrowhead, or the Guard, but there are questions about magical education, what kind of courses and homework, sports, what we wear..." she looked through the list, "...how much a wand cost and what they're made of..." She looked to Sprink and Amy, "There are a couple about Greywolf and werewolves, too."

"How old are these students?" Ginny asked.

"My age, figure third or fourth year." She flipped through the printout, then handed it over at Professor Snape's gesture. "If you want to reply, but don't want to reveal your identity, let me know, or give me an alias."

"Forward the email to the Headmistress, I shall discuss it with her," Professor Snape said.

------------------------  
_**Wednesday, March 27, 2002:  
Gotham City, Cresswell Academy, room 46: 13:30 (GMT -5)**_  
------------------------

The bell rang, signaling the start of afternoon classes, and Olivia rapped on the lectern. "Ladies, you know what that bell means!" she called, and the chatter died down. She took attendance, then flipped the file folder closed. She said, "We passed on to Miss Wayne a list of questions last week. We have received replies to some of them. Miss Wayne passed on the list to her teachers and schoolmates, and while some have revealed their names, others have not." She boosted herself onto her worktable, ankles crossed and swinging. "British boarding schools use a house system, with Heads of House and a Headmistress. The Headmistress sent me several files, the school is known as Hogwarts, it is well over a thousand years old..." this caused some discussion, Olivia knocked on the table, and it died down again. "She also sent me a capsule summary and a book list, which is rather fascinating by itself. Please pass these back," and picked up a printout:

**Class list, year 4:**  
Defense Against the Dark Arts  
Potions  
Transfiguration  
History of Magic  
Charms  
Astronomy  
Herbology  
Arithmancy  
Ancient Runes  
Divination  
Care of Magical Creatures  
Muggle Studies  
June: finals (exams)

**Book list, year 4:**  
Intermediate Transfiguration Level 4  
The Standard Book of Spells Level 4 by Miranda Goshawk  
Magical Draughts and Potions Book 4 by Arsenius Jigger  
Defensive Jinxes and Hexes for the Paranoid, Book 4  
The Monster Book of Monsters  
Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky  
Numerology and Gramatica  
Ancient Runes Made Easy  
Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles

"What's a muggle, ma'am?" Olivia waved her hand, "That's us. Non-magic users. I know I'd love to see some of these books, that one on monsters sounds fascinating." She put the papers aside, "Cheryl wanted to know about werewolves, one of them wrote back. She was bitten by another werewolf when she was four, that her bite is only infectious on the full moon, which is when she confines herself. She can transform from human to wolf at will, except during the full moon when it is forced upon her. She is stronger, has better senses as a wolf than as a human, yet still retains her human mind. She describes the changing as feeling like a good, hard stretch after a workout, and then, you're changed."

"Cool," Cheryl said. Olivia waved the paper, "There's a little more information, the werewolf that bit her apparently specialized in biting young children, for which he was arrested, tried, and executed. The bite, before what they referred to as 'the potion', left the person a passenger in their body, they were mindless, feral and attacked whoever they saw. Now, they still are forced to transform, even after contact with the lunar surface, but they retain their mind and aren't violent. They cage themselves voluntarily, just in case."

"Sports?" Annalisa asked, and Ms. Reynolds smiled, "Why did I think you'd ask that?" She picked up another sheet, "From a Mr. Potter, whom we saw at the press conference with the broom, he mentions that he and his wife had gone on a bimble to Gotham, and actually met Batman, whom he found quite terrifying." That caused a stir, most were Gotham natives, and had never seen their city's most famous resident. "He writes, 'While there are several wizarding sports, far and away the most popular is Quidditch,'" and she spelled it. "'Each of the school's Houses support a Quidditch team, we are now practicing for an international academic tournament with other wizarding schools around the world,'" she continued to quote from his letter. "'The basics of Quidditch are simple, think of it as basketball played twenty to thirty meters in the air. There are seven players on a team, four balls, and one of the three Chasers must get one of the balls, the Quaffle (she spelled it again) through one of the three goal hoops at the other end of the pitch, which the Keeper defends.'" She looked up, commenting "It sounds more like an aerial dogfight than basketball." She continued, "'Two of the balls, the Bludgers (she spelled it again), made of iron, are charmed to fly about and attack players randomly. The beaters use bats, which look like cricket bats, to redirect or defend against these balls. Finally, the Seeker looks to capture the Snitch, a small ball about the size of a walnut, which is worth 150 points, and whose capture usually wins the game.'" She looked up at her class, "He adds one more sentence: 'The game lasts until the Snitch is captured. The longest on record is three and a half months.'"

"What they must smell like..." someone commented.

"Indeed," she said. "Miss Wayne replied with a copy of her average weekly schedule. It's a killer, she gets up at three AM to do homework and study, works on business during meals, and sends a lot of email." She looked up, "Don't tell me you've got too much to do, she's maintaining fairly decent grades, running a multinational company as well as the Solar Guard as well as being an active investor. All she's giving up is sleep, she confessed she fantasizes about doing nothing but sleeping on a tropical beach, although she adds 'With my luck, I'd be eaten by a kelpie!', whatever that is." She passed back copies, it listed all 168 hours in the week.

"Gawd," Cheryl Burbridge said when she saw it. "She plays this Quidditch thing too?" She looked up, "I have _got_ to meet her."

"I'll see if it's possible," Olivia said. "Cheryl, you asked about fashion, Miss Wayne passed the question to someone named Lavender. She replies..."

------------------------  
_**Friday, March 29, 2002:  
London, Ministry of Magic, Courtroom 2: 15:42 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"The defendants will rise," Madame Bones said. Mattie, Arthur and Gabrielle stood, somewhat nervously as she scrutinized them through her monocle. "On the first, and most serious charge, that of violating the International Statute of Secrecy by performing magic in public, what is the verdict?"

"Guilty with extenuating circumstances."

Madame Bones nodded, her face impassive, and continued, "Those circumstances are?"

"Assorted small children were being held hostage by dangerous criminals. The leader of those criminals demanded Miss Wayne's wand when a relative-by-law was under the threat of direct bodily harm. The Ministry," the foreman paused to shoot a nasty look at Umbridge, "contended that the sacrifice of that small boy, and indeed of Miss Wayne herself, was a small price to pay to maintain secrecy. While under the strict letter of the law, they are guilty, this jury feels sufficient extenuating circumstances exist."

"I see," Madame Bones said neutrally. Her quill scratched, "On the second charge, the prohibition of underage sorcery?"

"Against Gabrielle Delacour, not guilty, as she is legally an adult witch. Against Helena Martha Wayne and Arthur Morton, again guilty with extenuating circumstances."

Madame Bones made another note, "The circumstances for Mr. Morton?"

"A blood relative was in danger of life and limb from a known dangerous criminal."

The only sound was the scratching of Madame Bones' quill. "The circumstances for Miss Wayne?"

"Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton are in the first stage of marriage, and thus have a legal relationship. This ties into the threat to Mr. Morton's sibling," the foreman said. "Even if the intended victim of the criminal, one Carson Morton, was not a relation, he was still an innocent child, and Mr. Morton and Miss Wayne faced a moral and ethical imperative to save his life. We find this sufficient grounds to pronounce a verdict of guilty with extenuating circumstances." He shot another poisonous glare at Umbridge, who remained unruffled.

Madame Bones' quill scratched, "The final charge, that of usage of an Unforgivable, specifically the Killing Curse, by Miss Wayne?"

"The Ministry contends that Miss Wayne is using an unregistered wand, and that wand was used to kill the werewolf Eric McAuliff. While that wand was indeed used to kill Mr. McAuliff, it was handled by the actual user, the French wizard Jean-Paul Laval. Laval then broke the wand, returning it to Miss Wayne's custody. Miss Wayne subsequently surrendered the wand to... (he swallowed nervously) ... the Grand Mage Merlin Ambrosius, who performed unknown magic upon the wand, repairing it in the process."

Madame Bones' quill scratched, she said, "Please continue."

"The repaired wand resists the application of standard Ministry spells, and the spells that are installed on all wands not carried by Ministry staff..." he hesitated.

"Please continue," Madame Bones said as she made her notes.

"The ... limitation spells that were installed per the Ministry decree of October, 1870 on wands for sale to the general public cannot be applied. There are no approved or unapproved spells on the wand."

Madame Bones put down her quill and stared. "You are saying that my wand, that I purchased at age eleven when I first received my Hogwarts letter, is limited by Ministry statute? Who was Minister then? Has Ollivander been intentionally selling crippled wands?"

The jury foreman was sweating, "Minister Grogan Stump signed the order, and Mr. Ollivander, whom I bought my first wand from, is required by license to purchase wand cores from the Ministry. He assembles them and matches the witch or wizard to their wand, the cores are debased by the Ministry, not Ollivander."

Umbridge was on her feet, "How DARE you reveal Ministry secrets! I'll have your head for this!"

Madame Bones looked over, "Madame Umbridge, you will sit and be silent, you have given your testimony. Are stunning spells necessary?" Dolores Umbridge grumbled and sat as Amelia looked back at the foreman, "How did you find this out?"

"An un-named source owled it to me, the owl took off after I untied the message, so I took a long lunch at work and went to the archives. It matched the little tiny notice in the _Prophet_..."

"Which Madame Umbridge has just confirmed for us," Amelia said as Dolores turned white. She saw Lois sitting in the audience, "I have a feeling the _Reporter_ will dig this out. However, we must carry on. Miss Wayne's wand cannot be modified or reverted, there are no spells on it. Correct?" The foreman nodded, and she continued, picking up her quill, "The charge of using an Unforgivable?"

"Not Guilty," and Madame Bones' quill scratched. "As there are Guilty verdicts, recommended imprisonment or fine?"

"For Miss Delacour, one galleon. For Mr. Morton, two galleons. For Miss Wayne, two galleons, no imprisonment for any of them." Madame Bones' quill scratched, then she looked at the defendants, "I assume between the three of you, you have five galleons?"

"Oui," Gabrielle said.

"So ordered," Amelia said, and banged her gavel. "Pay the bailiff, he will return your wands."

------------------------  
_**Saturday, March 30, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 07:05 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

Minerva stood, rapping on her goblet with her butter knife. "Your attention please. As you know, this next week is our Easter Holiday period. Those of you staying are in for a rare treat, as we have several visiting schools, and we will also be hosting several heads of state." She waited for the murmuring to die down. "I expect you to be on your best behavior, those of you who have an interest in business and international affairs will be able to speak to these persons." She tapped her butter knife again to cut through the chatter, "Our first game is on Tuesday, against the Russians. I would appreciate a victory, I have wagered a case of firewhiskey on you."

"What do you win?" someone called from Gryffindor as Minerva started to sit.

"A kilo of Beluga caviar," she replied.

------------------------  
_**Sunday, March 31, 2002:  
Inverness International Airport, control tower: 17:05 (GMT)**_  
------------------------

"Copy,_ Konrad Adenauer_, and welcome to Scotland," the approach controller said, and switched channels, while his boss said, "What the bloody hell is going on? We've got Presidential aircraft from all over the world. Did someone throw a summit and not tell me?"

------------------------


	16. Weeks 31 – 35, 1– 30 April, 2002

The Magical Bat IV

* * *

A/N: Please visit my other site: http : / www . fictionpress . com / (tilde) karanne (remove the spaces).

* * *

For disclaimers, please see chapter one.

* * *

16 – Weeks 31 – 35, 1– 30 April, Fourth Year

* * *

_**Monday, April 1, 2002:  
Hogwarts**__**, Slytherin table: 12:17 (GMT)**__**  
**_

* * *

Mattie put down her chicken, and typed a quick email:

_To: Sterling, Elizabeth  
CC: Bundy, Karen  
Date: 1 April, 2002  
From: Wayne, H. Martha  
Subject: Offworld trip this summer_

_Hey, Liz!  
I'm going off planet this summer with Arthur and a few of my mates. Would you like to come? We will probably see the wandering motorcyclist, and at least two planets. We're leaving around 25 June, and should be back around the end of August. You'll need a transit visa for Ecuador, if you're interested you'll need to be familiar with firing a shotgun, as it's safer to be visibly armed._

_I left a project folder in your network drive, please take a look at it and get back to me.  
Mattie_

--  
_**Monday, April 1, 2002:  
**__**London, Bayswater, 71 Hereford Road, #9A: 18:37 (GMT)**__**  
**_--

"I'll do the dishes," Becky volunteered, which suited Liz, as she had cooked. She sat down with a pint and her laptop, entering the encryption key for her journal. Her psychologist had suggested she keep one, she had gotten into the habit as a way to organize her thoughts.

_1 April, 2002  
Bayswater flat _

_Another interesting day at work, the newsies out front, being denied the chance to interview Miss Wayne or anyone 'interesting' have thus settled on the fundamentalist religious loonies who also picket the building, and who call for burning her at the stake, meddling in 'God's plan' (which generally means their own way), forsaking the heavens, barefoot, pregnant and such. _

_Bah. _

_Barmy lot. Now I know how sweet it must have felt for Miss Wayne to tear into that Green idiot, they substitute emotion for logic. I envy her a bit for that. _

_Got an interesting puzzle today, a new assignment. I'm really looking forward into sinking my teeth into this, not only a new programming language, but a new operating system, one based on Ternary, or base 3. However, instead of our 0, 1, and 2, they use -1,0, and 1. I'm going to have to build a compiler for it. Apparently ternary (and the associated base 9 and base 27) are what is used to program computers for Gal tech use. I confess I also want to try my hand on some of the Enhanced kit that we've acquired. Might be simpler to run some sort of patch or translator on my existing C+ compiler, though._

_That being said, Miss Wayne sent me an email today, CC'd to Miss Bundy Sr. She'll be going off planet with her mates around 25 June, should be back by the end of August. She did say that she was going to at least two other planets, and this was not an official Solar Guard or Arrowhead trip. If I was interested, she did suggest I become familiar with firing a shotgun, apparently one must be visibly armed. While they will have some infantry along, having a firearm would deter problems. I do not know if that is because of the American 'Wild West' attitude, or simply speaking from experience. Miss Wayne, despite all the civilizing we've been doing on this side of the Pond, is still very much a Yank. _

_Not that there's anything wrong with that. In any case, I am inclined to go, it should be a grand adventure. _

--  
_**Tuesday, April 2, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall: 07:42 (GMT)  
**_--

"Fred, George!" They turned as they stepped out of the floo, to see Arthur Morton waving at them. He came up as the little first-year with the brush tried to clean them off. Huge grins split their faces, they rushed over to him, grabbing his hand and pounding his back as the first-year gave up on them in disgust. "Wonderful!" "Best advertising we could have!" they complemented him.

"Er, thanks. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about your wedding. It looks like we won't be able to make it, we're going off planet and this is something the grooms arrange." Arthur looked a little hesitant, "Had you, um, made any plans for the honeymoon?"

"Thought about someplace on the Continent," Gred (or Forge) replied. "Hadn't really discussed it."

"Good, because this is from Mattie and I," he said, pulling some business envelopes from his pocket. He selected two, then handed them over. "Two of the honeymoon suites at the L1 hotel. Variable-gee suites," he added.

Forge looked at Gred (or the other way), then crushed Arthur into a bear hug, complete with back-slapping. All three turned as an amused older man with a grey beard said, "Inform your brides immediately, if you know what's good for you. You don't want to spend your first night on the couch."

"No, sir!" The twins rushed off, as the older man asked, "Mr. Morton, a few minutes of your time?"

"Certainly," and Arthur Morton held the door for Fidel Castro.

--

As they strolled in the general direction of the lake, 'Uncle' Fidel busied himself with getting one of his famous cigars going. Once it was drawing to his satisfaction, he looked down at Arthur, and stopped walking. Reaching over, he removed a sign from Arthur's back, offering it to Arthur. "Your thank you, I presume."

Arthur growled, banishing the sign. He turned, casting '_Evansco_' on the bench under the tree to clean it off, then saying, "Thank you." He offered the bench, adding, "Ever since Mattie said you'd be here, I've wondered what I'd say to you. It boiled down to this: Antonio Prohias."

Fidel declined the bench as his bodyguard stayed close. "Relax, Raul. I doubt Mr. Morton will hex me." He mused as he puffed on his cigar, "Prohias? I do not recall... The name seems familiar..."

"Something to do with _El Mundo_, I believe," Raul said. "A writer, artist perhaps?"

"Editorial Cartoonist," Arthur bit out. "Fled, penniless in 1960, worked for..."

"The spies! The black and white spies! I remember them now!" Raul said. "We sent him a letter in the late 1990's, it was returned to us, unopened. Pity..."

'_Before or after he died_?' Arthur thought.

"Yes, he had a sharp wit and a sharper pen," Fidel said. "We could have used such a man."

"Would you have given him editorial freedom?" Arthur asked rhetorically.

"Initially, no," Fidel admitted. "While there is always some editorial control, one does not wish to displease the person paying you. Later, yes, he would have had a greater deal of freedom. Mr. Morton, I understand the events of the early Revolution concern you." He turned to face Arthur, "Any new government goes through growing pains, Mr. Morton. This applies to my own Revolution, your own in 1776, I can even see the beginnings of it with Miss Wayne. No matter how we wish to limit casualties, they will happen. I believe it is one of your own revolutionaries who said, "The tree of liberty is watered by the blood of tyrants."

"Almost, sir," Raul said. "Jefferson said it is watered 'from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.'" He smirked as Fidel cast an irritated gaze at him. "I should have not put so much money into the schools," he complained. Turning back to Arthur, "I am by training an attorney, Mr. Morton. I believe in the rule of law."

"Then what about civil rights? Multiparty elections?"

"Different countries have different versions of rights, Mr. Morton. Here in England, what you think of free speech is limited, but you have the right to stand up in a cinema at home and shout 'Fire'. One 'civil right' that you do not have in the United States is the right not to be executed for committing a crime. You are familiar with the death penalty?"

'_Over 600 executions by firing squad from January 1959 to October 1960? Yes, I am_.' "Free speech, the right to peaceably assemble?"

"Even in the United States, you must apply for and get a permit to assemble. You must pay a deposit for civil services, for police and sanitation services. These cost money, it is only proper that you pay for these services." Fidel puffed on his cigar, "Mr. Morton, Latin America is not the United States, nor is it Europe, just as the Middle East is not Europe. Our culture is that of a strong father, the guiding hand." He puffed on his cigar while he thought, "In addition, you must remember the events of 1959. We were aided by, and advised by, the Soviet Union. When your much stronger patron makes a suggestion, you will generally carry it out. While I do not offer it as an excuse, we were young, newly in power, and the Soviet Union had been a successful nation for 42 years. We accepted their reasonable suggestions, and declined a few." He puffed on his cigar, "Mr. Morton, life is an ongoing laboratory, a school. While we failed a few classes, we were generally successful, primarily because we moved slowly and carefully. When you deal with the lives of your citizens, it is necessary." He puffed a bit more, "Something Stalin did not care for. You will note that I do not have a 'cult of personality', you will not find a single statue or street named for me. I cared more for the education and health of my citizens, something even my opponents will grant me."

"The secret police, the political crimes?"

"Excessively applied at first, but then, as I am certain you understand, we did not want to have our backs to a wall. Once again, I point to the Soviet Union, to Khrushchev's example." He puffed on his cigar, "We have learned, and human rights are guaranteed by our constitution, but we must move slowly. Better to make certain that people are well fed, educated and healthy first. There are other political parties in Cuba, and there is freedom of religion. I have even been to church, once or twice." He clapped him on the back, "Come, Mr. Morton. Let us watch the game, and see how our Miss Wayne does in catching the Snitch."

--

As they walked toward the Quidditch pitch, they saw the crowd start to stream toward them, and so stopped under a tree to let them past. Arthur took a step forward, giving a sharp whistle and calling, "Dad!" Several people turned, and he called, "Bill! Bill Morton!" with a wave. He saw his dad wave back, accompanied by Hank, Misty and two girls he didn't know. As they came closer, Fidel turned from his conversation with Raul, and Bill Morton stopped dead in surprise. The two groups moved closer, and Arthur cleared his throat, "Um, Dad, I'd like to introduce a friend of Mattie's, Fidel Castro. Mr. Castro, my dad, Bill Morton, senior."

Bill was... shocked. The younger people were still staring, as Fidel beamed, striding forward, his hand outstretched. Grasping Bill's hand, he shook it heartily, then moved on, "You must be the oldest, Henry, and this is your fiancée, Misty? When can we celebrate your wedding?"

"Um, I've got to get the dress, and plan it out..." she said, rattled. Fidel raised her hand, kissed it, then said, "Please let us know. It has been a while since I was able to dance with a beautiful bride." He turned to Pam and Kristin, "Hello."

"Gor blimey," Kristin said, then shook herself. "Hallo. This is my flatmate Pam, I'm Kristin, we're across the hall from Mr. Morton, we've been helping him out..." She ran out of steam, then turned as she heard an approaching conversation, but not in English.

"Mr. Morton," Mattie said in English. "I see you've met my 'Uncle' Fidel, and Raul, who keeps him on track. May I introduce Mr. Putin, in from Moscow, and the President of the Republic of Poland, Aleksander Kwasniewski." She switched back to Russian and introduced everyone she knew, raising her eyebrow at Pam and Kristin.

"Surely you're all not here for this Quidditch game," Misty asked.

"_Nyet_," Putin replied. "This is an informal 'starship summit', you might call it. An opportunity to meet and resolve difficulties. We shall be installing receiving antennae for a solar station to power our remote Siberian villages as well, perhaps, tying into the Japanese power grid. I am scheduled to meet with Prince Katsura tomorrow, perhaps we might also resolve the Kuril Islands dispute." He shook his finger at Mattie, "You are a sneaky one, catching the ball the way you did."

"I was fortunate," she replied. "Your player was much better than I am, stronger, and had a longer reach. It was a well-fought battle."

"That it was!" Kwasniewski said. "Come, Commandante, I have brought strong Polish vodka and miód pitny (Polish mead), we can discuss business." The three wandered off, Raul giving Mattie a small salute before joining the other bodyguards as they headed back to the castle.

"You won, I take it," Arthur said.

"Yes, barely," she agreed, sliding an arm around his waist as they also started to the castle.

--  
_**Tuesday, April 2, 2002:  
London**__**, Arrowhead R&D, library: 11:13 (GMT)**__**  
**_--

Anne Bundy flipped through the pages of a metallurgy text, musing to herself, '_Reversing the polarity of protons will affect the electronegativity, increasing the diamagnetism, I thus may consider an alloy of aluminum or tin_.' In her 'shopping list,' she noted:

_1 gram spheroids, step 10 AlSn alloys, 10 kg each for testing. _

Nodding to herself, she thought, '_I shall need to consult with Professor Flitwick about embedding a charm or spell. Can it be powered by the lunar magical field_?' She made a note in her 'Unanswered Questions' folder, then continued, '_Remote operation, we cannot have a wizard to cast the spell, 'tis too dangerous. We shalt need multiple locations, with a well shielded central control room, with equipment to project and manipulate the product with magnetic fields. We doth be cert to have at least one explosion_.' She made another note in 'Unanswered Questions', then continued her thinking, '_After the conversion, the product may be introduced into the handling object_.' She doodled, '_A simple iron sphere, with permanent magnets to create the required magnetic fields, then welded shut after loading.__ What strength field would be required for safe handling_?' Another note followed in the 'Unanswered Questions' folder. '_Dust doth be a recurring problem on the moon, we must have an absolutely sterile area, otherwise a tiny fleck of dust will set off an explosion of the product_.' Another note was made, as she continued to muse, '_The first step doth be to determine the correct spell, although I cannot start testing until a facility doth be built on the moon. Woulds't be easiest to simply have a static field spell, although an intermittent one coulds't be synchronized to the product loading equipment. Doth a magnetic field interfere with the spell's field_?' Another note was made in 'Unanswered Questions' as she stepped through the proposed production of antimatter.

--  
_**Tuesday, April 2, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall: 11:42 (GMT)  
**_--

The fires turned green, and the Beauxbatons Quidditch team stepped out of the fire behind their large headmistress. Hands were shaken, the atmosphere was much warmer than their previous visit.

Mattie turned from greeting the French team, she had seen someone she recognized. '_What is Mercy Graves doing here_?' she wondered, before turning back to the conversation.

--

Anne stepped out of the fire, dusting off her suit. Glancing at the clock, she headed for the dorm to drop off her things before lunch.

--

"And just who doth these two strumpets be?" Anne coolly asked her boyfriend.

"Er, Pam, Kristin, this is, um, Anne Bundy. I was just... explaining some of the castle's features..." Harry said.

"Strumpets?" Pam asked. "That's so, like, middle-ages."

"Aye, as I doth be," Anne said, drawing her wand. "Defend thy honor, if thou hast any." She glanced at Harry, "I shall deal with _thou_ later."

"Anne?" Arthur asked as he moved closer. "I'd really rather you let this go, for me? They're neighbors of my dad, who's here to work on the lunar claim."

Anne still had her wand out, "I had found these wonderful spells in mine library at home, dids't be in a book published in 1421, after my time. They doth not be Unforgivables, and thus forbidden." She coolly regarded the two interlopers. "'Strewth, I shall let them go anon, but be warned," she leaned forward, "I doth not favor poachers," and sheathed her wand.

Arthur escorted the two girls away from the table, "I really do appreciate what you've done for my Dad, but Anne is kind of medieval. A genius, but she is from the 14th century, born in 1365." He added, "Remember, you don't discuss who or what you've seen here today, that was part of the agreement with my dad." Pam nodded, and he walked them toward the doors to the Great Hall, stopping by the Hufflepuff table to let his Dad know he was escorting them to the Cauldron.

"One moment, please," Pam said. "The girl over there, doesn't she work for Greywolf, the spokesman?"

"Sprink? Sure, she's the 'spokeswolf'," he finger-quoted. "Why?"

"I've a business internship coming up, might I ask you for an introduction?"

Arthur grinned, "Come along, I'll introduce you to both Sprink and Amy."

--

Arthur stepped out of the floo, turning to help the two girls out. Kristin shook her head, "I will never get used to traveling by fireplace," she admitted. Looking around, she said, "Back in London?"

Arthur nodded, "A quarter mile north of Greywolf, three-eighths north of Arrowhead. Want me to walk you to the Charing Cross station, or can you make it?"

"I think we've got it, thank your father again for the experience," Pam said.

"No problem, push hard on the door, it sticks a bit," he replied.

--  
_**Tuesday, April 2, 2002:  
Marseille**__**, Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons: 12:37 (GMT +1)**__**  
**_--

"Gaby, qu'est-ce que tu penser?" (Gaby, what are you thinking about?) Starting, Gabrielle looked up, "Rien, Angelique, rien du tout," (Nothing, Angelique, nothing at all), and quickly clicked away from M. Wayne's email.

"Eh bien, venez donc. Nous allons être en retard pour la floo à Poudlard," (Well, come, then. We shall be late for the floo to Hogwarts,) Angelique said.

--  
_**Wednesday, April 3, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Quidditch Pitch: 07:24 (GMT)  
**_--

Mattie nursed a cup of coffee as the Japanese team circled the pitch and took their places across from the team from Azteca. The French referee released the Snitch, throwing the Quaffle into the air, and the game was on. Next to her, Gred and Forge leaned forward, "Wanted to thank you for the honeymoon suites. Alicia and Angelina's first question was 'what do I wear?'"

"Your skinsuits, and you can't gain any weight," she warned with a grin. "Aside from that, remember that your magic won't work, you'll be muggles. There's restaurants, bars, zero-gee pools, and," she waggled her eyebrows, "The bridal suite itself, but you have to give me an honest report, what's good, what needs improvement. The Crown just certified the hotel for occupancy, so you six are my guinea pigs." She was distracted by the first score of the game, as an Azteca chaser scored on the left goal.

"Six?" one of them asked.

"Including Albus and Minerva," she replied.

--

"It's very simple," Mercy told the French Minister of Education. "We don't care what the score is, we just want Wayne in the school's hospital. It should be simple enough, you've got _cannonballs_ flying around the field."

"And then?"

"And then the President of the United States will look with favor upon French requests for restricted technology. Miniature nukes, a phase-conjugate laser, those types of things."

"All for placing Mademoiselle Wayne in hospital," the politician said. "I shall arrange it."

--  
_**Thursday, April 4, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Quidditch Pitch: 08:26 (GMT)  
**_--

"In the 86th minute of play, the score is Hogwarts 40, Beauxbatons 180."

"It's been a rough day for the British since Hogwarts Keeper, Harry Spencer, was forced out of the game in the 10th minute after taking a double Bludger strike."

"We hear he'll be just fine, folks. Wayne is orbiting the pitch, looking for the snitch, trailed by the French seeker Delacour. There have been a lot of penalties on this, both sides have substituted players." The announcer leaned forward, "The Beaters are attacking Wayne with the Bludgers. Oh, she's taking some nasty hits, she's off her broom..."

Severus was already on his way as Mattie thudded to the turf. Madame Pomfrey was already there, examining her as a stretcher arrived. She was levitated onto it, and Severus stalked toward his bench, seizing her abandoned broom and calling, "Morton." He thrust the broom at Bill, saying "Get. The. Snitch."

--

"Some nasty broken bones, a concussion, some damage to her spleen," Narcissa told a worried Selina. "Nothing we can't fix, don't worry about her. We're keeping her under for now." She passed information to Dr. Phillips, who perused it silently.

"I want to sit with her," Selina said, worry in her voice.

"Only for a couple of hours, I'll give you some dreamless sleep potion for tonight," Poppy told her. "Don't worry, she's safe as houses. We've got some others that will sit with her."

"Poppy's right, Selina," Dr. Phillips said. "Severus will come in after the game, and I'll relieve him for the night." He grinned, "I'm old, I'm up all night anyway."

--  
_**Thursday, April 4, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 19:04 (GMT)  
**_--

Severus started from his examination of an oval diamond ring Poppy had put on the side table. Miss Wayne wore nothing without purpose, he wondered as to this item. A small humanoid form floated over Miss Wayne's bed. '_Blue skin, white hair, magenta robes: Guardian_,' his mind ticked off, and his wand appeared in his hand. "What do you want?" he snarled softly, unconsciously squeezing the ring in his fist.

Ganthet floated over the unconscious form, his left hand extended to keep her still. He seemed completely unconcerned with the wand in Severus' hand, his eyes fixed on the Potion Master. After a minute, he said, "She regards you as family, as someone to be protected, as you do, though you deny it. She is fighting to regain consciousness, she has detected my presence and wishes to protect you. Be at peace, I mean none ill."

Severus grunted, sitting back in the bedside chair, his wand no longer pointed at the Oan, but still ready. "Why are you here?"

"To inquire into her health, and to her reasons for not wearing her Ring." He regarded Severus, "That is a false ring she wears, why does she wear it?"

"The genuine one has given her a multitude of problems, even without your summoning her. She has secured it, she does not want it, and she tried to give it back to you. Why do you insist she keep it if you don't summon her?"

"Not all who wear a Ring use it to combat those who would do evil. She is doing more to correct a long term problem without it than others have when they wore it."

Severus eyed him, finally sheathing his wand, "The galactic slavery problem, the one that she despises you for not addressing."

Ganthet bowed his head, "The same. A being in my position can read the time lines. When your Terran Empire..."

"Terran Empire?" Severus asked.

"Indeed. The most probable one has your Terran Star Federation reluctantly becoming the Terran Empire. This will happen within your limited lifespan." Severus' blood ran cold as Ganthet gazed down at the forcibly unconscious form, "As I was saying, having fought a war with the Su-lan Empire, the Terran Empire will also come into conflict with the Mersan Empire over this issue, that of slavery." He was silent as he regarded Severus. "These will be the first wars fought on a galactic scale for an ideal, a principle, in millions of your years. It will spell the beginning of the end of interstellar slavery. For these reasons, we have allowed her possession of the Ring, as we have allowed the limited magic you perform, you are resolving a difficulty."

"You are telling me this... why?"

"You are one whom she trusts for advice. Your people and your planet have a difficult path ahead, which you and her mate will guide her upon. You will not recall this conversation." He floated up, and without waiting for a reply, silently popped out, and Miss Wayne lurched up, gazing sharply about. "Where is he?"

"There is no one here but I, Miss Wayne. Rest, you must heal. I will continue to sit watch." He offered her a glass of ice water, which she accepted, then settled back. As her eyes closed, she smiled and murmured, "Thank you, Professor."

"It is my pleasure," he replied softly.

--

The intruder crept silently into the night-shot Infirmary, cloaked by disillusionment spell. Silently, the dozing werewolf was stunned with a powerful spell, the screens were gently parted, the intruder paused as the dozing Dr. Phillips shifted, murmuring "Emma..." softly. He was stunned with the same spell, as was the patient in the bed. A golden chain with a large pendant was gently placed over her head, a wand tapped the pendant, a single word whispered: "_Portus_". The patient vanished, and the intruder made their way out.

--

A rap on the door, and the door opened. Mercy Graves looked at the intruder, finally speaking, "...It's done?"

Sarah Cain, Headmistress of Salem Witch's Institute, whispered harshly, "It's done, you bitch, may God forgive me. Release my students!"

"When I have verified the package has arrived," she was told as the door closed.

--  
_**Friday, April 5, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 06:09 (GMT)  
**_--

Poppy moved quietly, checking on her patients, most of whom slept soundly. Silently parting the privacy curtains about Miss Wayne's bed, she took a step back in shock. Doctor Phillips lay sprawled on the floor and Miss Wayne was gone! Kneeling to check on the aged physician, she realized he was dead, killed by an exceptionally powerful stunning spell. However, Miss Wayne's guardian werewolf, curled up on a bed opposite was merely stunned from the same spell. A '_Portus_' was the only other recent spell she detected.

"Enervate!" and Crystal awoke to Poppy's frown. "A lot of good you do. Dr. Phillips is dead and Miss Wayne's disappeared. Why didn't you smell someone?"

Crystal shook her head, transforming back with a pop, "The Skel-e-gro potion smells worse than it tastes, my nose still isn't working. I can't even smell you. Have you disturbed the crime scene?"

"No, I just checked for spells. Heavy stunners for you and Doctor Phillips and a Portkey used on Miss Wayne."

"A Portkey you think was used on Miss Wayne," Crystal replied. If she'd learned one thing from her association with muggle detectives, it was the difference between belief and proof. While Poppy's deduction made sense and would be operated on, the possibility of using a Portkey to lay a false trail would not be dismissed. "Still, she could be anywhere on the planet by now."

"Or off it," Poppy added with a grimace.

--  
_**Friday, April 5, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Infirmary, office: 06:39 (GMT)  
**_--

"'Point me' didn't work?" Professor Harry asked.

"She is warded in some way," Professor Snape said. Arthur cleared his throat, "Mattie told me on Tuesday that she saw Mercy Graves with the Salem bunch. I haven't seen her, or any of them, today."

"They flooed out late last night," Minerva said. "Who is Mercy Graves?"

"One of Luthor's 'special assistants'," Selina said. "They don't make a move without his blessing, so if she arranged this kidnapping..."

"A keednap it was," Gabrielle said. "We 'spoke' to our Beaters. While it is their duty to take out the Seeker, it is not to put zem in 'ospital. They were 'encouraged' in their duties by the Meenister of Education, who has now gone back to Paris." She cast a privacy spell, having a private conversation with Selina.

"Can you trace the Portkey that was made? Where it went?" Dick asked.

Crystal looked uncomfortable, then said, "Yes, but don't spread it around. The far point was Washington, DC."

--  
_**Friday, April 5, 2002:  
Washington, DC: 06:30 (GMT +5)  
**_--

Mercy walked down the hallway in a safehouse somewhere in the DC area. Opening the door, she observed the deeply unconscious girl securely bound into a straitjacket. An IV had been inserted to keep her fed, other lines drained her wastes. She nodded in approval, and pulled out a small digital camera, taking a few pictures. With a gesture, she said, "Load her in the ambulance and take her to Point Baker for transfer on." Without another word, she turned and strode out, her heels clicking on the floor.

--  
_**Sunday, April 7, 2002:  
London, Isle of Dogs, Guard Intelligence Operations: 05:51:17 (GMT)**_

--

The duty officer looked up as the secure printer hummed to life, it rattled for a few seconds, then went silent. He walked over and picked up the appropriate clipboard, making a note of the time. Sisal Asset 015 had just gone FTL.

--  
_**Sunday, April 7, 2002:  
London, Isle of Dogs, Guard Intelligence Operations: 12:24:19 (GMT)**_

--

The email 'pinged', the operations officer opened the message. He studied it for a minute, then grunted, "The _Scythe_ has landed in the Eridani capital, bay 1833. Her comm officer reports proceeding with step one of that phase."

--  
_**Sunday, April 7, 2002:  
**__**Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Mayer kitchen: 18:55 (GMT-5)**_

--

Mike looked up from his homework as the doorbell rang. His Dad answered it, showing Hank and Misty into the kitchen. He grinned, "Cool! You came!"

"Was there ever any doubt?" Misty said, and his Mom asked "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

--

"So here's the deal, Mike," Hank said. "We're part of your crew. We trust you not only to get us to the right place on time, but not to fly us into Jupiter. That not only means getting the math right, but keeping your logs up to date so we can keep insurance coverage."

"We log everything," Misty said. "If I'm your cargo officer, my responsibility is not only getting the cargo of Helium and Hydrogen, but making sure that we have air to breathe, water to drink, and food to eat. We can't pull over and grab a burger if we're hungry, but we also have a limited amount of storage space." She nodded to her financee, "Hank is the engineering officer, he keeps all the machinery going and fixes what's necessary. You've got to be able to pull your weight from the first day. Can you do that?"

Mike's eyes were wide. "I... I think so."

His mom said, "We discussed this, as Yoda said, 'There is no 'try'. There is do, or not.'. There is going to be a lot of math, which has been your weak subject in school."

"I'm a math major at the University," Hank said. "You're going to have to jump to college math, this is four-dimensional trig. I'm willing to coach you, but you have to know this, not only to determine a course, but also a position if the computers go out. If we have to call for help, the Guard needs to know where to look, just 'Uranus orbit' isn't going to cut it. That's why you do a paper-and-pencil nav backup, the same reason the Navy does it."

Taking a deep breath, Mike said, "Okay. Let's do it."

"Are you sure, Mike?" his dad said. "We won't let you back out."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he replied. "I'm going for it."

--

"We need to break down the mission into separate phases," Misty said, outlining on a legal pad. "Phase one is outbound from L5 to Uranus orbit. Two is de-orbit and separation of the gondola, processor and storage tanks. Three is re-orbiting, and docking with our ship. Four is raising our own orbit, escaping from Uranus orbit, and Five is the return trip to L4, docking with the station there, and offloading our cargo." She put down her pencil, and looked at Mike, "As pilot, you're involved in every step along the way. Not only are we moving, but our origin and our destination is, not only in three dimensions, but also in time."

"So we have to 'lead' the target we're shooting at," Mike said slowly.

"That's right," Hank said. "The advantage we have with the grav drives is that we have a greater specific impulse to use, a much higher octane fuel, as it were. However, we still need to exceed the delta-v for a particular location in order to move about, so we have to spend the fuel. It's not a speed limit, but a floor." He pulled out a chart, "We're starting here, at L5. You can see that it takes more energy to go back to Earth orbit and then out to an escape orbit at 4000 mps, then to do a swing by the moon at 700 meters per second, and _then_ go into an escape orbit at another 700 mps, for a total of 1400 meters per second."

"And the fuel you have is all you have," his mom said.

Hank added, "Part of the design for the gondola are ion drives, which will boost out of Uranus' atmosphere, but that's using recovered Helium-4. Escaping from Uranus is a delta-v of 21.3 kps, which is workable if we were to land, however, it's lesser the higher up you are. We figure we're going to dip a few hundred kilometers in, so the atmosphere density is enough to work with, and also high enough so that we can climb to a higher orbit. We figure the escape velocity at that altitude is about 2100 mps, which also means we can park the gondola and equipment on the inner moon, Cordelia, which has just enough gravity to keep it there. We transfer the cargo to our tanks, turn on a transponder and fly back home."

"Uranus has rings," Mike's dad said.

"That's right, Mike, what's your answer?" Misty asked.

"Avoid the rings," he said slowly. "Having one of those hit would be bad."

"Understatement of the year," mom said with a laugh.

--  
_**Monday, April 8, 2002:  
United States Disciplinary Barracks, Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas: 00:04 (GMT +6)  
**_--

"I don't like this," the warden said.

"You have your orders," Mercy said as the last of the series of ambulances left, and the Sickbay attendants wheeled the stretcher away.

"Presidential orders or not," the General said, "I don't like these orders."

"Shut up and soldier," Mercy replied.

--

"Some of us are tryin' to sleep," one inmate complained as the still-unconscious girl was strapped to a backboard and leaned against the bunk. Her tubes were arranged, as one of the guards replied, "You'll get enough sleep soon."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "Hey, that's a girl. What's she doin' on the Row?"

"So am I, and that's for the President to know," Mercy said, taking photos with her digital camera. She slammed the door, and slipped her own padlock in place. She put the key on a neck chain, "See you in a week when it's time to change her bottles."

--  
_**Monday, April 8, 2002:  
Arrowhead Investments, video conference room # 3: 07:57 (GMT)  
**_--

Shernette entered the conference room, claiming her (marked) seat with her laptop bag and helping herself to a glass of water from the sideboard. The last few months had increased her self-confidence, she nodded politely to Ms. Hawking as she entered with Mr. MacAdam.

"Lassie, how 'ye do'in?" The short Scotsman asked as he fixed his tea.

"Very well, Mr. MacAdam," she replied. "Thank you for the wicker furniture idea, I don't know why it never occurred to us."

"Lass, y' cannae sit on concrete, it hurts y' arse," he chuckled. "This lets y' use y' scrap material, helpin' y' bottom line. Dinnae worry, I'm sure that y'll have competitors, that's what makes this the second-grandest game."

"_Second_-grandest?"

Bill Morton and his people (Hank and Misty) claimed their seats. He poured a cup of coffee, "Golf, am I right?"

"Aye, laddie, and we need tae get your son Arthur an' his wee lassie taegether this summer. We'll be puttin' on a pro-am this summer f' charity."

"They're going off planet," Sheila Hawking said, distracted. "Missing out on a couple of weddings, too, if we can find her." She shook her head, "I'm sorry, a friend of mine died a few days ago, I'm still dealing with it.

"Hello, London!" a voice from the TV called. "Port Oldridge calling."

"Hello, Jerry," Sheila said, turning. "We're just waiting for a few more people to arrive."

"No problem," the fellow on the moon said. "Just a comm check, we're waiting for a few ourselves."

"You don't have to worry about the Tube, though," Shernette said with a grin. She turned to Sheila, what do you mean, 'if you can find her?'.

"Not yet, young lady. Give us a few years, we'll be complaining about the mag-lev. Who's missing?" The clink of glassware came over the circuit as both sides fixed drinks.

As Sheila replied, "Mattie was kidnapped by Luthor, we think. No proof, though." People reacted strongly to that bit of news as Amy Johnson entered the room with her people, Mr. Sudeyev of Uzbeck Basalt, and Herr Doktor Sturmfp of Universität Stuttgart.

"Have we missed anything?" Herr Sturmfp asked. "Ve must apologize for ze delay."

"We haven't started yet," Sheila said. "If anyone needs the facilities, down the hall from the elevators."

"Lifts," Shernette reminded her, as she held the door for Misty.

--

"I might as well start off," Sheila said. "First, I apologize for Miss Wayne not being here, as I said, she was kidnapped during the Easter Holidays, and the police are involved."

"I hope she'll turn up fine," Jerry asked from the moon.

"She's tough," Sheila replied. "I do have one other person that I invited, Mr. Grayson (Dick waved), who is going to be working on those so-necessary yet unpleasant subjects, water and sewer."

"Every time you flush, think of me," Dick said with a grin. He nodded at Shernette, "I have a feeling that you'll be one of my biggest customers."

"Yes," she said. "I'm glad, we're going to have enough problems getting things off the ground."

"That's right, think POSITIVE!" Dick said. He glanced at the agenda, "What's first, power?"

"Ja," the Professor said. "Ve have a new pressure vessel for the pebble-bed reactors, mit a high-density polyethelene/boron alloy, our tests have it stop 99 of the Gamma-particles, which as you know, are the thermal neutrons." He nodded at Amy, "Also, for your ship's reactors, we haf developed a special form of concrete, high in hydrogen absorption, but much lower in density. Ve plan to test it mit these reactors."

"Six pebble-beds at seventy-five megawatts each, that should produce adequate power for construction," Sheila said.

"On the north side of the railroad tracks," Hank said. "After that?"

"Then we build the Port Grimaldi area, on the south side," Jerry said from the moon. "This lets our people work in a shirtsleeve environment while we install things like the maglev stations, reactor control rooms, and then we start to dig the local maglev tunnel. That's where the boring machine goes, and where we start to build your places."

"Let's move to the first location after the Port Area, which Arrowhead is claiming as its thirty percent for infrastructure. Now, we'll have the water and sewer, but Bill here has Grimaldi Chemical Supplies, Inc.," and Sheila motioned to Bill Morton. "First, they've got that nice big meteoroid in their back yard."

"Yes, and we've got a nice core sample of it," Misty said. "There's a lot we can do with it, and I understand Mr. Grayson will be flying in shipments of water and methane ices from Ceres. We've also got ammonia, which has nitrogen for Ms. Young's plants..."

--

"Grimaldi Chemical will have a population of thirty or so," Hank said, adding up numbers on a legal pad. "TallGrass another dozen or so with various plants," and he flicked his pen at Shernette. "Uzbek Basalt another dozen or so people making fibers, matting, insulation and so forth, Greywolf with their machine shops and underground fabrication plants will have fifty or sixty people."

"Plus dependents, children, and so forth," Misty said. "Add about another fifty percent for that."

Hank nodded, then continued, "City, or I should say Port personnel another dozen. We're up to about two hundred people living in Grimaldi. What about medical and dental care?"

"At the Port," Dick Grayson said. "It's a five or ten minute train ride from your house." Sheila made a note, "We'll get some people in on that, we can also set up a paramedic station at Greywolf."

Amy looked at her people, "Absolutely. Keep our insurance down."

"If Arrowhead staffed a paramedic station at each business," Mr. MacAdam said, working his laptop, "It would increase your tax rate marginally, but the savings for your business insurance would compensate." He looked over at the Professor, "What about the University?"

"Ach, the Board has decided to fund a satellite campus, the first Universität on the Moon!" Herr Doktor Sturmfp tented his hands, "A residential campus, of course, but think of all the fresh new ideas!"

"Add a school for kids to the University," Jerry said from the moon. "Your teachers can video conference to individual homes for the different grades. It's a common question here, we've got kids here, they need to be educated. You could even charge a fee, parents would pay it."

"That could work," Dick said. "My wife and I are expecting our first, and we have the bandwidth available, they would log in to a particular classroom, and we have things like electronic whiteboards available." He rubbed his chin, "No reason they couldn't email homework back and forth."

"It would eliminate the personal touch," Misty said.

"The teacher can travel," Mr. Sudeyev said. "One weekend here, another there."

"What about homework help?" Dick asked. "If my kid needs help in, oh, math say, and I can't help, who do I refer to?"

"A couple of possibilities," Misty replied. "The university students could be available, or one of the local adults would put his or her name on a contact sheet."

"That could actually tie into the citizenship proposal, the community service that was emailed around to you. The students could do it as part of their grade..."

"... And for something like math help," Hank said, "I can be available as part of my community service time, either by videoconferencing like this, or in a temporary classroom at the Port."

--

"We're missing a bet here," Misty said as the meeting broke up. She moved aside with Hank and Bill Sr., "Is our ship possible to go to Titan? To land there? Can we get a quote from Greywolf on a lander?"

"Why, that's a long way out of our way," Bill asked.

"Hydrocarbons, lakes of them, nitrogen, just about everything needed for a colony except an oxygen atmosphere," Misty said. "I'm willing to bet the oil companies are looking at it, there's no reason a chemical company like we are shouldn't." She brushed her hair back, "Besides, we fly by Saturn on the way to Uranus. Can't we drop off a probe?"

Bill nodded, "Let's get a quote on a probe, at least." He turned, and Misty put out a hand, "Let's do this right. Swing by Titan, drop a satellite in orbit, it drops a sample-return probe that works while we're at Uranus. When we return, we pick up the probe and take it back with us."

"Use an RTG for power on the probe," Hank said, then started to sketch. "We'll need to get hold of the Polish guys that are building our hardware..."

--  
_**Tuesday, April 8, 2002:  
**__**Grandview Heights Junior High, Math class: 14:55 (GMT-5)**_

--

"Mr. Peirce?"

"Yes, Mr. Meyer?" the older man asked. Benjamin Peirce had a white beard, looking somewhat like Albert Einstein. He had been teaching at Grandview for over twenty years, and had a solid reputation of clarifying an occasionally difficult subject.

"Um, I've taken on a private project, and I need to stay after, if you'll agree to help me out."

Benjamin gave the nervous teenager a friendly smile, "Well, that depends on what the project is. Never offer a blank check, Mr. Meyer."

Mike shook his head, "Uh, of course. Um, my neighborhood association is working on a trip to Uranus, and I want to pilot it. Sunday night, I sat down with some of my neighbors and..."

He stopped at the raised finger, "Mr. Meyer, you're telling me that your neighborhood is buying a spacecraft? I thought Americans were embargoed from Arrowhead."

"We're um, grandfathered in..."

His instructor had a look of intense pain, "Oh, how jealous of you I am. It's been a dream of mine since Sputnik..." He took a deep breath, then another. "It is known as '_Le rêve des étoiles_', the dream of stars. Mr. Meyer, I will be most happy to help you achieve your dream, I ask only for a photo or two. However, I need your parent's permission, so they'll need to sign a slip." He extracted his cell phone and handed it to Mike. "Please call one of them, and then we'll look over what you've got."

--  
_**Wednesday, April 10, 2002:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, conference room # 5: 10:28 (GMT)  
**_--

Sheila Hawking stood as the other attorney entered the room, shaking her hand. "Good morning, Ms. Nehring, I'm glad you could make it."

Betty Nehring nodded, took a sip of water, then said, "I have been in touch with my client, Mr. J'onn J'onzz, regarding exploration and colonization rights to the Martian surface. He is willing to grant orbital rights for navigation and communication satellites, no more than a dozen. In return, he would like the debris removed from the surface. Not only the non-functional landers, but parachutes, heat shields, and so forth."

Sheila nodded, "We know where the landers are, within a few kilometers. However, to do a thorough search, we would need to do a more detailed surface examination. While the existing orbiters can do a search, they can't resolve more than five meters or so." She smiled slightly, "In order to pick up our trash, we have to find it first. That's why we have the free-flying balloons."

"And in order to pick up the trash, you need a planetary base," Ms. Nehring said.

"Just a small one, a half-dozen people or so in Sinus Meridiani," Sheila admitted. "Food, fuel, communications, power, that kind of thing."

"That sounds most reasonable," Ms. Nehring said. "However, my client has looked over your proposal, and suggests a different site in Ares Vallis, instead." She smiled slightly, "You might have better luck in finding subsurface water there."

--  
_**Friday, April 12, 2002:  
London, New Scotland Yard: 10:55 (GMT)  
**_--

"... and then I woke up," Crystal said for what seemed to be the thousandth time. She was tired of repeating herself, "Why can't you just _find_ her?" she demanded.

"It's a big country," Poppy answered. "Don't forget, their President is one of her enemies."

The FBI agent from the embassy cleared his throat, and said, "Let's not get into politics, shall we? We're working on it, we'll find her."

--  
_**Saturday, April 13, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff gymnasium : 23:55 (GMT)  
**_--

"Anything?" Charlie whispered.

"Give them a minute, it has to be timed exactly right," Sprink replied as the twins concentrated on the mystic diagram they'd drawn on the floor of Arthur's 'private office' in the gym. Five candles at the vertices of a pentagram burned with green flame. As the twins chanted the locater spell, the candles flared white for a split second and went out.

"Damn it," Shaundra cursed.

"What kind of ward are they using?" Charlie mused as Sprink flipped through the reference tome.

"If it's this, it's bloody world class," Amanda said as she looked over Sprink's shoulder at the 'dark' magic tome in her hands.

Sprink looked up from the Slytherin library book, "It won't do a thing against direct observation, but against remote sensing, even Merlin couldn't find you."

"That would be very useful," Tomas mentioned. "What do you need to make one?"

Sprink waved her wand, copying the page for him, "I don't know what a 'Pythagorean pyramidal forge' is." Arthur glanced at Charlie, who shrugged and looked to the twins, who also shrugged and in turn looked to Sprink and Amanda, the native born witches. They traded glances, and shrugged as Sprink closed the grimoire.

Roshawn said to Arthur, "If she were still wearing your promise ring, we could have traced her with that. Unfortunately, Madame Pomfrey removes all the jewelry and whatnot from a patient."

--  
_**Monday, April 15, 2002:  
United States Disciplinary Barracks, '**__Death Row__**': 18:54 (GMT +6)  
**_--

"And here we are aga..." Mercy started to say, before the heavily muscled forearm of the adjoining cell's prisoner flicked out and seized her by the throat. He tightened his grip, she started to choke, and he slammed her up against the bars of the cell. "Hey, 'witz?" he called casually to the guard.

"Yeah, 'Ape'? You wanna let the girl go?"

"Not just yet," 'Ape' Meyers said, not even showing any effort. Deceptively small, the long-sleeved shirts he traditionally wore obscured his impressive physique. "We can tell you don't like havin' the girl here on the 'Row'. We don't like it either, we all got wives an' daughters on the outside. Since Luthor don't have the balls to do his own killin'," he slightly shifted his grip, and they could hear Mercy's neck crack, "We decided to adopt the girl. You know who she is?"

"Not officially, but I can read a paper," 'witz replied. "That's the Queen herself, Wayne."

"Yeah, we thought so," Ape said. "Since we got Luthor's bitch here, a hostage and all, you're going to listen to our very reasonable demands." She struggled, and he slammed her against the steel bars as he continued, "This gives you cover, in order to get this set up you hadda be operatin' under Luthor's direct orders, through this bitch."

"You're right, and I don't like playing Luthor's political games," General Keen, the warden, said as he walked up. "Let the girl go?"

"Now, Gen'ral, sir, I do that, you lose your cover story. I know you hadda say it, so you're forgiven. Now, none of us likes havin' our little Queen here except bitch. First thing is that the Queen's bottles get changed daily. You gotta hold her here, you got orders you can't shake, but nothin' there about mistreatin' her."

"Good," the General said. "Granted, but what about..."

"Bitch walked in voluntary, like," another inmate said. He called across the block as Mercy struggled, trying to push away, "Hey, Bitch, Ape benches 625. You ain't gonna get away from him," and he addressed the General, "Someone other than McGuffin, though," one of the other inmates said. "He'd sell access. You do that, we won't lift a finger against the guy you send."

"Something about McGuffin?" the General asked. "He's got a good record."

"You send the jaggies down here, we'll tell you about McGuffin," Ape said. "Second, and unofficially, there's gonna be a leak that th' Queen's down here." Mercy started to struggle at that, and managed to work a hand inside her jacket. Ape's left hand shot out, squeezed, and extracted a small pistol to the sound of breaking bones. He dropped the pistol in a pocket, continuing as if nothing had happened, "Anyway, you do an inquiry, and can't find the leak. Maybe you wink at 'witz here sneakin' Lois Lane in."

"Maybe," General Keen said. "You want to give the gun back?"

"Minute or two, General. Hell, we ain't got nothing to lose. Now, from what we hear on deck, Luthor ain't real popular. People think he's damaged national security, and he's a real asshole, from what we hear." He shifted his grip, 'witz could see her face becoming blue. "Now, what do you get outta this? Aside from being able to shove a two-by-four up Luthor's ass, as long as you keep your side 'a the bargain, we can help pertect our country." He relaxed his thumb slightly, and Mercy took a deep, shuddering gasp of air. "We may be killers, but we done our own killin'," and his grip on her throat tightened again. "We'll be model pris'ners, and maybe we'll get som'a'that off-world tech for the Corps."

"You're not asking for Presidential Pardons?" Keen asked.

"Great idea! Thanks, Gen'ral. Knew there was som'thin I was forgettin'." Ape moved his thumb again, and Mercy nodded. "See, even th' bitch endorses that. We got a deal?"

"We do, when you release the girl."

"Just a minute," and Ape pulled her close, crushing her against the heavy steel bars, "Now, Luthor's Bitch, you heard all this. You may be Luthor's toy in your little skirt, an' from what I hear, he's the jealous type." He moved close to the bars, those being the only thing separating them. He whispered, "He ain't here, you are, and you know I can snap your neck real easy. You willin' to die for Luthor, cause you know I ain't got nothing to lose. I already got a date with a rope." She made a noise, and his fingers tightened, "Just like snappin' my fingers, only this time, it's your neck." She could smell the onions he had had for dinner on his breath. "Now all you gotta do, Bitch, is report all is wonderful, and I'll let you go so the General can ream you about bringin' firearms into a secured location, like I would if this was my ship." He pulled her even tighter against the steel, she tried to push away or grab him as he dipped into his pocket, and extracted the magazine from Mercy's gun. Working the slide left handed, he tossed the magazine to 'witz, "Pass one round to every man on this deck, you and the General too. I got the chambered round, it's a reminder, and you're going to ignore them in a search." The general nodded, "So ordered, Abromowitz. Now, the girl and the gun?"

Ape grinned, tossing him the gun, and giving Mercy's neck one last squeeze, he dropped her, semi-conscious, her face and body imprinted by the steel bars, to the concrete.

--  
_**Tuesday, April 16, 2002:  
Metropolis, **__Daily Planet_**,**_** newsroom: 08:58 (GMT +5)  
**_--

"Planet, Kent speaking," Clark answered his phone.

"I was looking for Lane," the male voice said. "I've got a hot tip for her about the Queen 'o Space, Wayne."

"I'm Ms. Lane's partner, you can tell..." Clark began, but the caller cut him off. Clark read the number off callerID, it read USDB, KS as the caller said, "Just this. I know where she's being held. I'll call back in an hour, she'd better be there."

--

"Lane?" the caller asked, when he called, right to the minute.

"This is Kent again, she's out of the country, but I'll try to forward to her cell," Clark said. "I can't guarantee the connection."

"Best you can, then," and Clark leaned forward, trying to forward using the _Planet_'s arcane system.

--

"Lois Lane," she answered as she sat in Florean's Ice Cream, then sat upright. Mattie's kidnapping had been kept a secret, but if the caller had information... She propped her cell on her shoulder, snatching a quill from Florean and jotting notes on one of his napkins. "I'm in London, in the middle of something. It will be a few days before I can get there. Can I get a number?" She jotted more notes on the linen napkin. "I'll call you when I'm in town. Kent can relay messages. Right, thanks." She sat back, exhaling with a whoosh of breath. Looking at Florean, she said, "I'm sorry, but something has come up. I'll have..."

"My bloke Jared come by?" Florean said calmly. "Not a problem."

--

"She's being held in a military prison in Kansas, Fort Leavenworth," Lois told Selina and Barbara later over a conference call. "This smells like an arranged leak, but the invitation was for me."

"That's a joint services facility," Barbara said. "It's an Army base, but the prison is mostly run by the Navy. How crisp is your salute?"

"I'm the daughter of General Sam Lane," Lois replied. "Can you make me a Marine or Navy officer?" There was a tapping noise, and then the rattle of a printer. "You're from the Gotham Navy Yard's public information office, Lieutenant Lane," Oracle told them. "You've lost your ID, so you're going to have to have yours re-issued. Same with Petty Officer Kent, he's your cameraman, you're working for the _Navy Times_, and a companion piece for the TV show '_Around the Services_' on different postings." They could hear her grin, "How quickly can you two get here?"

"Give us thirty seconds," Lois replied. "I need to find my shoes."

--

When they landed on Oracle's balcony, she called, "Come on in!", and kicked her chair to roll toward them. Handing them two file folders, "Here's the deal," and pointed to Lois. "You, Joanne Lane, are a Naval Reserve lieutenant in Public Relations. You were called up for the Imperiex war and have not yet been released from Active Duty. Your orders, papers, and other documents are in that folder, along with a section on proper uniform wear from the Navy's web site."

"A lieutenant?"

"If you want to cover this story, actual reporters are usually enlisted," Barbara replied. "Commanders and Lieutenant Commanders are the editors." She turned to Clark, "Chief Kent, you are the cameraman for Lt. Lane. Get yourself outfitted at the Gotham Navy Yard, replacement ID's, and your TDY orders are in your folders. You'll take a flight out, get separate hotel reservations, and conduct interviews." She glowered at Clark, "That means you pack the cape, Superman is off planet."

"And Mattie?"

"I hate to say it, and Selina hates to agree with me, but she stays where she is. Luthor's given orders to hold her 'until further notice', so that's what the Army's going to do. Got that?" The two reporters nodded, and Oracle waved, "Come back with video we can use against Luthor, and remember to protect your sources. We wouldn't know where she is without that leak. I'm going to be constantly monitoring their comms, Clark, I'll call you if I need you." She waved her hands, "Shoo, I'm busy here."

--  
_**Wednesday, April 17, 2002:  
Kansas City International Airport, baggage claim: 18:51 (GMT +6)  
**_--

"I think that's all," Chief Kent said, picking up the last suitcase. He followed Lieutenant Lane, crisp in her white uniform, to the taxi stand, where he had a quick conversation in Arabic with the driver, who popped the trunk, holding the door for the Lieutenant.

--

Clark continued to converse with the driver in Arabic while they drove north to Leavenworth. Outside the city, it started to rain, and Clark mentioned to Lt. Lane that "The driver suggests you wear a jacket. The base's temporary housing doesn't have an overhang, you'll be cold."

"Thank you," she replied.

--  
_**Wednesday, April 17, 2002:  
Ft. Leavenworth transient barracks: 20:24 (GMT +6)  
**_--

"Here you go, Chief, enlisted barracks room 828, chow call is 05:00, first floor Building A." He turned to Lt. Lane, "You sorted there, ma'am?"

"Yes, where do I go for mess?"

"Officer's mess is on your first floor, also starts at 05:00." The corporal cleared his throat, "If I may, ma'am, I'd call the laundry about your jacket and skirt, they close in a few minutes and the General's got a thing about appearance. You've got a trace of mud on the back, and on a Navy white uniform..."

"Thanks, Corporal... (Lois read his name plate) Thackerston, I'll put in a call from the room."

"Yes, ma'am," and Barnaby Thackerston saluted, which Lois almost forgot to return.

--  
_**Wednesday, April 18, 2002:  
Ft. Leavenworth, Commanding General's Office: 05:45 (GMT +6)  
**_--

Ensign Ellis knocked twice on the General's office door, "Sir, those two people you asked about are here."

"Show them in, Ensign, join us, and close the door. This conversation never happened." He stood, tugging down his uniform jacket when the two entered, braced, and saluted.

He frowned, inspecting them, absently returning the salute. He glanced at the Officer, then at the Chief standing beside her. "Lane, I didn't know you were Navy."

"My father was General Sam Lane, sir," she replied. "US Army. I've probably been on as many military bases as you have, but this is a disguise. Sir."

He grunted, then looked at Clark, "You, Chief?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No, sir. Sorry."

The General said, "I'm not happy with this situation, you understand. I'm even less happy with you two wearing my country's uniform. You aren't authorized, you haven't earned it. That is a violation of Section 10 of the US Code." He glanced at Clark, "You're the cameraman, I understand. Frame your shots so it doesn't show her uniform. The sooner you can get that kid out of here, the better. You understand that I cannot allow you to remove her, those are my orders from National Command Authority. When I receive heat, and I am sure to, I will be blaming you, this conversation never happened. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant replied.

"Give Ensign Ellis a copy of your orders, so our backsides will be covered." He turned to Ellis, "Just like any other transient soldiers, usual procedures. You understand this conversation never happened, then call the prison's security office and get them passes for where she's being held. Any questions, Ellis?"

"Will I be escorting them, sir?"

The General nodded. He looked at the two faux servicemembers, "I'll give you one shot at this, get it right." He stood again, "Dismissed," and all three came to attention and saluted.

--

"For what it's worth, I agree with the General, you didn't earn those uniforms," Ensign Karen Ellis told the two undercover journalists as they walked to the prison. "Still, I don't like holding civilians, and especially juvenile civilians here, and especially on Death Row. Get her the hell out of here." She turned and glared at Lt. Lane and CPO Kent. "I've said my piece, I've got the General's covering fire, so you, Mr. Kent will hide behind that camera. You are recognizable from GNN, and your haircut's not regulation. I'd steer you to the base barbershop if we had the time."

She glared at the faux lieutenant, and unclipped and re-arranged some of the ribbons, "A journalist, especially a _female_ journalist from the Press Office in Gotham, would not have combat ribbons. Even if the ship you were on went in harm's way, that would not entitle you unless it had a Unit Citation. What you would have are in the wrong order. The only reason the General didn't tear a strip off you is that he hadn't had time to read your orders. I have, and you're allegedly in _my_ Navy. The purse stays on your left shoulder, Lieutenant, and you'll have to leave it in the security office. Whoever conjured up your paperwork was good, but we'll all be safer once it can be buried in the files." She took a step back and saluted, commenting, "Upper arm parallel to the shoulder line, hand flat, index finger at a forty-five degree angle and just touching the outer eyebrow. You hold it until a superior officer returns it." Lieutenant Lane did so, and Ensign Ellis sighed, "Those are the most glaring flaws. Get in, get out, and get the hell off my base and out of my prison."

--  
_**Wednesday, April 18, 2002:  
United States Disciplinary Barracks, '**__Death Row__**': 07:35 (GMT +6)  
**_--

'Ape' looked up from his college textbook when 'witz told him, "Hey, the lady you asked about is here. She's in disguise, so keep it cool."

"Always," the inmate said, removing the key from his neck and unlocking the padlock that Luthor's bitch had placed on the cell next to his where the Queen was kept unconscious. Hiding the lock and key, he resumed his place, turning a page in his book.

"...this is the Death Row area," Ensign Ellis chattered, a plastic smile on her face. Several of the inmates came to lean on their cell walls, a few wolf whistles noted the appearance of the two women. She took the signal from Abromowitz, and indicated Ape's cell. "This is one of our better-behaved inmates, Sergeant Meyer."

"First Sergeant," Ape corrected. He saluted, and Lois returned it, to his surprise. "What are you in for, First Sergeant?"

"Murder," he said casually. "Defending my shipmates on Okinawa, but the Court didn't see it that way. I've still got appeals remaining," and he shrugged.

"How do you occupy your time," she asked. "There's no television, I don't hear any radios..."

"I exercise and study, I'm working on my Doctorate in Economics," he said, and the Lieutenant's eyebrow rose. "Aside from that, we get newspapers like the _Daily Planet_ and the _New York Times_. Only so many games of solitaire you can play," he confided. "Now my neighbor is boring, I don't hear much from her."

"Her?"

"We're under orders to keep her drugged unconscious," Abromowitz said. "I can't let you in the cell, but you can look inside," and he used a remote to turn on the cell lights as he unlocked the door.

Clark focused in, his camera light illuminating the bare cell, the recognizable face with the white patch of hair over her ears, the braided hair, the edges of her Hogwarts infirmary gown peeking out from under the straitjacket. She was strapped to a backboard, which leaned between the cell wall and the bunk, her legs bare, an IV tube running to a patch on her right foot, catheters running to containers on the floor. He got several long shots of the prisoner, then moved to the left, to show her behind the steel bars and then a longer shot of the cell as 'witz slammed the cell door with a clang.

He spoke two words, "Got her."

--  
_**Wednesday, April 18, 2002:  
Ft. Leavenworth, Commanding General's Office: 16:20 (GMT +6)  
**_--

"Permission to see the General?" Lieutenant Lane asked Ensign Ellis. "We have that final report he wanted."

"One moment, ma'am, I'll see if he's available," and she buzzed him, then stood, pulling her skirt straight, and walked her to the General's door.

--

"Good," he judged, then removed the DVD from his computer and gave it back. The faux lieutenant slid it into her manila folder as the General stood, facing her and said, "Now, process out with the Ensign, get off my base and get out of uniform. If I ever see you in a uniform again that you haven't earned, I'm suddenly going to remember this day, and inform the Adjutant's office to prefer federal charges, and the hell with my pension. Are we clear on this, Ms. Lane?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get the hell out of my sight," he said, and Lois slipped out the door.

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Metropolis, **__Daily Planet__**: 11:14 (GMT +5)  
**_--

Lois rapped on the doorframe, "Got a minute, Chief?"

Perry White looked up, "Don't call me 'chief'. What's up, Lane?"

"Just the end of the Luthor Presidency," she said, flopping into one of his chairs while Clark leaned against the doorsill. Perry waved him in, "Close the door, Kent," as he accepted the hardcopy from Lois. Taking a blue pencil, he started to go through it, correcting her spelling. "L-E-A-ven-worth, Lois," he said, looking up. "What happened to that electronic dictionary I got you for Christmas?"

"Left it at home, Chief," she admitted.

Perry grunted, "I assume you've got hardcopy documentation on all this? What am I saying, of course you do."

"Video, too," Clark offered. "Mattie in the cell, with IV tubes and all. Interviews with the guards and a couple of the inmates, officers, the CO of the prison."

"Give it to Congress, they can start impeachment proceedings," Perry mused. "One big problem with this, though." He turned to them, "In order to get the _Planet_ back, I had to make a deal with Luthor. He can kill one story, he'll probably want to kill this one. I'll call him, you can stay, but there will not be one single sound out of you, not a whisper, not a grunt." He glared at Lois, "Is that understood?"

Lois started to object, and her husband wrapped his hand over her mouth. "Understood, Mr. White." She glared at him as Perry dialed.

--

"Perry White of the _Daily Planet_ calling for Lex Luthor," he told the secretary. "Regarding paying off a deal with him," he added. "Yes, I'll wait." He grumbled, "Damned secretaries," as he eyed the box of stogies on his desk, settling for a gulp of coffee. "Hello, Luthor? Perry White. I'm paying off the debt I owe you, to kill a story. I have enough evidence in front of me to hand to Congress for impeachment. No, regarding your kidnapping of Wayne and your holding her on Death Row. I have enough evidence for the entire front page and an inside special. It will go in the afternoon edition and on GNN unless you say you want it killed." He waited, "Of course Lois Lane, who else?" (Lois extracted herself and stuck her tongue out at the phone.) Perry held the phone away from his ear, they could hear Luthor. "That's the deal. One killed story for Planet Media, Inc. Do I kill or publish?" He held the phone back, then told him, "You have my word. We will not break this story. I can't speak for anyone else."

He slammed the phone down, "Lane, you're fired, temporarily. Go lead this story in your London newspaper, and God forgive me for saying this, I need that _Times_ reporter, Koslowski. Come see me in 48 hours, you can have your job back." He looked at Clark, "Go get me Koslowski, then you go guard your niece. With your shield or on it, Kent." He waved them out, then looked at his phone in distaste. "Go, I need to call the ..." he took a deep breath, "... the _New York Times_."

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
New York, **__The New York Times__**, newsroom**__**: 11:53 (GMT +5)  
**_--

"Koslowski, what are you working on?" Beth looked up from her story. "Got a tip that Wayne's been kidnapped, boss," she replied.

"She has been, the _Planet's_ got the story ready for bed, but they can't publish," her editor said with a sour face. "Perry White just called me, we, and you, owe him one. Be on the roof in five minutes, you're going to Metropolis."

"On the roof?"

He replied with one word, "Superman."

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Metropolis, **__Daily Planet__**, roof**__**: 11:58 (GMT +5)  
**_--

"Oh, wow..." Beth said as they touched down under the giant _Planet_ globe. She took a wobbly step, Superman reaching out a steadying hand.

"Thank you, Superman," an older man with a white fringe of hair, smoking a cigar said. He lifted off, flying off to the west as Perry stuck out a hand, "Welcome to Metropolis, and the _Daily Planet_. You must be Koslowski. I'm Perry White, and I've heard good things about you."

"Thank you, Mr. White. Can you tell me what this is about?"

"You know Wayne's been kidnapped by Luthor's assistant, Mercy Graves? Straight out of Hogwarts. I understand your daughter goes there, too." Beth was a little dazed at how much Mr. White knew. He puffed on his cigar, then said, "I'll be up front with you, Koslowski, for your background only. In order to save the _Planet_ from Luthor, I bought it from him, but there was a condition attached. He could kill one story."

"This one," she replied.

He nodded. "No media connected with the _Planet_ can break the story. We have enough evidence to present to Congress for Luthor's impeachment, but we can't break the story." Beth's eyes were wide, she had just heard of the story herself.

"So the _New York Times_ gets to break it, and then..." she nodded, "That's why my editor said we owed you a favor."

"Happens," Mr. White said. "We'll cash it in later." He took a last puff, then ground it out in a planter full of gravel and cigarette butts. He waved, "This is Jimmy Olsen, he'll show you around, maybe we can talk you into staying."

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Ft. Leavenworth, Commanding General's Office: 12:59 (GMT +6)  
**_--

"Good afternoon, may I see the General, please?" People looked up at the pleasant baritone, and all motion ceased. Superman smiled at the various junior officers and enlisted personnel, who were staring at him. He nodded, "You might want to clean that up," to an Air Force E-5, whose coffee cup had overflowed and spilled on her skirt. That broke the ice, Karen Ellis shook herself, and touched her intercom, "General, sir, I think there's someone here you _really_ need to see."

--

"Welcome to Fort Leavenworth, Superman," General Keen said. He looked at his visitor, "Have we met? You seem familiar."

"No, sir, I've never met you before," and before the General could continue, he said, "Excuse, me, sir, but I'm concerned with Miss Wayne. I have reason to believe that Luthor will try to kill her."

"I can't let you take her, all I can do is what my orders say, 'hold here until ordered otherwise,'" he said. He looked at his office staff, where absolutely no work was being done, despite the activity. "Ensign Ellis, call over to security, then take care, escort Mr. Superman to where we're holding," he grimaced, "Miss Wayne."

--

"You sure you haven't been here before? You do look familiar," Karen asked as Superman hung his ID around his neck. He just shook his head and smiled.

--

Superman watched as Mercy Graves strode onto Death Row, her heels clipping the dirty old green linoleum. He had told Miss, er, Ensign Ellis in the elevator that he would be watching, not to let anyone know he was there, and then he blurred out of sight. Now he hung, floating just below the barrel-vaulted ceiling and watched Ms. Graves walk down the short corridor of cells, reaching into her jacket. She stopped and addressed one inmate, "You bastard, you hurt me, now you're going to pay for it."

"Ain't nothin' you can do to me, Luthor's Bitch," he said lazily, standing and resting his forearms on the cell's bars. "I already told you, I got a date with a rope." She gave him a lazy smile, then shot him with an automatic. As the back of his head exploded, she turned to where Ensign Ellis was already running toward her, she backhanded the Ensign and she crashed into the wall.

'_She may have Amazon blood, I'll have to ask Diana_,' Superman mused as he flew down. "Superman, how wonderful," Mercy purred, then flicked a green knife at him, where it sank into his chest. He choked, staggered and collapsed as the elevator 'dinged' and General Keen stepped out. Mercy shot him, the elevator doors closing on his corpse. She strode over to stand in front of Mattie's cell, telling her, "Goodbye, Wayne."

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Gotham, Clock Tower: 12:06:53 (GMT +5)  
**_--

"Oh, crap," Barbara said. She had finally penetrated the secrecy behind Luthor's two 'special assistants', they were not Amazons, as Clark had thought, but witches who had graduated from Salem several years ago. While Hope had been positively placed in DC, Mercy had just received emailed orders, and she was in Kansas... She touched the speed-dial for Selina, "We've got a problem..."

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Ft. Leavenworth, Death Row: 13:07:16 (GMT +6)  
**_--

"...Goodbye, Wayne." Mercy said.

"I don't think so," a young woman said from inside the cell. She had jet black hair and wore a silver ankh necklace. "It is not yet her scheduled time."

Mercy frowned and demanded, "Who the hell are you, and what 'scheduled time'?"

"Hell is... apropos, I think," the young woman told the blonde with a gun in her hand. "My name is Death, and you cannot kill me today," she said as she transformed into a tall, black hooded figure, whose one bony hand clutched a scythe as she phased through the thick steel bars.

Mercy laughed, "You've come to collect her soul, do my job for me."

The cold, stench and despair of the grave rolled from Death as she added in a rattling voice, "I do not take sides. I said it is not yet Miss Wayne's scheduled time ..."

"Yeah, right," Mercy said, leveling the gun at Wayne and firing. Death didn't move as the round passed through the unconscious girl, into the thin mattress, which rippled. "What the..." she muttered. "I can't miss from five feet away!" She worked the slide and fired again, the expected mortal wound between Wayne's eyes still not appearing. Again the round sank into the thin mattress. Raising the .45, she shot out the cell's light fixture, then discarded the gun, drawing a wand and casting the killing curse. Green light shot out and dissipated as Death remained motionless to one side.

"I said it is not her scheduled time," Death rattled again.

"Holy s..." Mercy said, then spun, avoiding Ensign Ellis' tackle.

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
London, Sheila's townhouse: 07:07:32 (GMT)  
**_--

Selina flipped open her cell, "Hey, Babs, what's up?" She listened, then caught sight of a charm bracelet on her wrist. Dropping the phone in a pocket, she clasped it, and said, "Take me to Satan!"

--  
_**Hell  
**_--

Selina Wayne arrived in a burst of brimstone and hellfire, stumbling a bit. An imp reached out to steady her as Satan looked up from a scroll, "I'll be with you in a minute, Mrs. Wayne." He returned his attention to the portly executive in front of him, and tisked. "Greed is a sin. Raising insurance rates over and over and over, then canceling policies after a disaster?" He tented his long fingers and tisked, "It is too bad that the deck collapsed. Have you anything else to say before I pronounce sentence?" The insurance executive mutely shook his head, and Satan motioned to an imp, who lead off the soul. He handed off the scroll to another, then told another imp, "Please bring Dr. Phillips up, we can deal with him right now."

"But Mattie, my daughter!" Selina protested.

"My dear, I control time here, there's plenty of it." Dr. Phillips arrived, no longer sick and old, but a healthy, vibrantly glowing young man, the picture of health. He spied Selina, asking, "Are you dead too? What about Barbara and Mattie?"

"Oh, no, she's just visiting," Satan, now in the form of a handsome blond fellow said, "I just thought we would handle your case while she was here." He accepted a scroll, perusing it in silence.

"Excuse me, I didn't think I had sinned enough to deserve Hell," Dr. Phillips said.

"Oh, no, we switch off every millenia or so, this is my turn," Satan said, distracted by the scroll. He motioned over an imp, whispering an order, who popped out. "In terms of Barbara, she'll have a wonderful baby girl, and Mattie will have..." an imp coughed, "Milord, your visitors." A white elevator which Selina hadn't noticed before dinged, and two large, glowing white figures stepped out. "Well, now, Dr. Phillips, having perused your record, and having found it rather excellent, I judge and sentence you to Heaven." He leaned forward in shock, and Satan grinned, "Now, there were a few times we both know about, but I think those are excusable." He motioned to the white elevator and stood, "Peter here will take you in hand, and Selina, if you will join Michael and I, we'll take care of your slightly wayward daughter."

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Ft. Leavenworth, Death Row: 13:07:38 (GMT +6)  
**_--

With the characteristic flare of hellfire and stench of brimstone, the three arrived in the small cellblock to find Ensign Ellis having a witch's duel with Mercy Graves. Most of the guards and inmates had hit the deck for cover from the flying curses. Selina shook her head, still a little disoriented, and asked, "Who's who?"

"Allow me to introduce everyone," Satan said. "I am of course Lucifer Morningstar, the tall white slab is the Archangel Michael, the tall figure with the scythe is of course our old friend Death, the young woman in white is Ensign Karen Ellis of the US Navy, who is one of your daughter's very reluctant guards, and the blonde haired young woman is Miss Mercy Graves, who came here on Mr. Luthor's orders to kill your daughter."

"This has been a very strange watch," Karen Ellis said, and Superman groaned from where he lay against a cell wall. One of the inmates reached through the bars of the cell, pulling out the green glowing dagger, and said, "Open our cells, we'll take care of Luthor's bitch."

"That would hardly be a fair fight, now would it?" Death said, healing the wound with a wave of her hand. "Let's watch, shall we?" and took a seat in midair, conjuring popcorn for everyone as Selina moved up to the Ensign, telling her, "Tag, let me at her," and launching a blizzard of kicks and punches as the Ensign moved back, panting a bit.

"This is recorded, all activity on a cellblock is," Karen said, nodding gratefully at a conjured chair and bottle of water. She tapped it with her wand, refilling it and conjuring one for Superman, who nodded his thanks as Selina and Mercy performed their deadly dance.

Michael, Lucifer and Death all ignored the Ensign's statement, they would be seen only by whom they wished.

Mercy was starting to get worried, with all these witnesses, how would she be able to off Wayne and escape? Lex did not accept excuses, the fact that Death herself had kept her from killing Wayne would not be acceptable. Now, she was dueling not only a trained witch, but Wayne's mother, another one of those Gotham freaks. She was getting tired, and ...

"... got her!" Selina called, as just for a second, Mercy's concentration slipped, and she landed a spinning back kick to the back of her head. Mercy staggered, and Karen drew her wand, whispering one word, '_Stupefy_', and the 'Special Assistant' collapsed on the linoleum.

'_Incarcerous_', and ropes bound Mercy. Selina grinned at Karen, who told the unconscious form, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say will be held against you in a court of law." With a flick of her wand, she levitated the bound form, "You have the right to speak to an attorney..."

"That's fo' damn sure," one of the inmates called. "Everyone wi' me?" He started to quote, "...If yo' sorry ass can't afford no shyster, a crappy one will be appointed fo' you." Another chimed in, "To make sure you lose!" This continued as Selina stood next to the bars of the cage, trying to reach her daughter.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Wayne, but our orders are to hold her until otherwise instructed." Karen said regretfully. "We can't let you have her."

"Not really a problem," Death said, floating the unconscious form out. She held the door for Karen, "Someplace for your burden?" and Mercy was placed on the single bunk.

"I feel rather useless," Superman said, and welded the bars of the door shut with his heat vision. Selina leaned over her daughter, gently slapping her cheeks, "Dear, wake up? Please, wake up?"

"Now that she is out of the cell, properly videotaped so I'm covered," Karen said, and pointed her wand, '_Enervate_!' and Mattie woke up for the first time in weeks. Blinking, she asked, "What's the score?"

--

"Yo, um, Death? Can I ask a favor?" one of the inmates said quietly, and she turned, "Yes?"

"Can you, like, do me now? I really don't want to feel that rope on my neck."

The black-robed figure seemed to shake her head, "I cannot summon you ahead of or after your scheduled time. I will promise you that it will be painless and brief."

"Who, um, schedules these things? God?" He noticed that Superman was also listening to the conversation.

"Every living being schedules their own, according to their karma, their past and present lives," she said. "This life of yours is in redemption, balancing the scales as it were. Once this debt is paid, you will continue to learn, to advance."

"I have a time scheduled?" Superman asked softly.

"You do, Kal, of the house of El," she replied. "You, and the other survivors of Krypton have your scheduled dates, as do all others."

"There are other survivors?" he asked.

"There are," she said. "This one hopes that Miss Wayne's plans come to fruition. You know of them," and Superman nodded. "You will excuse this one." She floated off, and the inmate breathed out, "Heavy, man."

--

"Two _weeks_?" Mattie asked. "I am, like, so behind now..." she was leaning forward as Selina attacked the locks on her straitjacket. "Mom, I'm not wearing anything here... well, a hospital gown..."

"Allow me," the heretofore silent angel Michael said, waving his hand, and Mattie was wearing an identical formless white robe to his. She looked down, pushed back the sleeves and said, "Um, thanks, I think."

"Let me try," Lucifer said, waving his hand, and a equally formless white shift over an ankle-length leather skirt appeared.

"Males do not understand these things," Death said. "We must pity them, they do try so hard..." she waved her skeletal hand, the straitjacket rearranged itself for a third time, into a still-loose white shift, a fairly short leather skirt, sandals, and a complex 'net' hair braid that came down from the crown of her head, around the back of her head, to the mid-back. "I always liked the Atlantean styles, I have given you one that a free female of the merchant guilds would have worn."

"Um, thanks, I think," Mattie replied. "Atlantis, like Aquaman?"

"No, this is the original trade empire, their capital drowned twelve thousand years ago," Death said. "It was a busy time for me." She reached down to help Mattie to her feet, who winced, "Ow. Bed sores." She limped around, then straightened as Michael waved his hand. "Thank you, whoever did that."

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Ravenclaw table: 19:55 (GMT)  
**_--

Arthur looked up at the blaze of hellfire and the stench of brimstone, as did most of the hall. Coughing and waving her hand, Mattie stepped out of the circle, wearing a leather skirt and white shift. A tall, blond man said, "Now then, Mrs. Wayne, your daughter has been returned, there is a minor matter of a fee."

"_What_?"

"It's all right, dear, I did ask for his assistance," Selina said.

"Double or nothing," Mattie said. Tomas came up, Selina gave him a quick hug, "I do not know what is owed, senor, but I stand with my family."

"Very well, triple or nothing," the blond fellow said. "I don't presume you play poker?"

"Once or twice," Mattie said. "How do I know you won't cheat?"

"My dear Miss Wayne, I am offended," the blond fellow said as students gathered around to watch. A table and deck were conjured as he motioned over his shoulder to the tall, broad-shouldered man in white who watched silently. "_Michael_ cheats at cards, I do not. My word of honor."

Charlie asked quietly, "Do you know who these people are?"

Shaundra replied, equally quietly, "The black robed figure is Death, the blond fellow is Lucifer Morningstar, and the big guy in white is the Archangel Michael." Her sister added, "It's in a book in the library..."

Charlie asked, "Lucifer... as in Satan?" He watched as the seal on a deck of cards was broken, and Roshawn nodded. "She's playing for her family's souls..."

--

The Great Hall was silent except for the soft riffle of cards, Mattie asked, "Five card draw, nothing wild?"

"As we are both 'all in', we shall forgo ante," Lucifer said. He eyed his opponent across the table and declined the cut. "A single hand, shall we?"

Cards were dealt, and Lucifer examined his hand, while Mattie arranged hers without looking. She raised an eyebrow, and he set two aside, "Two, please." Two cards landed in front of him, and she finally glanced at hers. "I stand."

"Still crap. I fold," Lucifer said, and Mattie dropped hers, face down. "What did you have?" he asked.

She shook her head, "You didn't pay to see those cards. As you've folded, I win the hand." A sigh of relief was heard, and Lucifer nodded, looking at the three, "I forgo any claim on your souls." Selina nodded, and Lucifer asked, "What price to see your cards?"

"You are aware of my task, may I consult with you?"

"I am not aware, may I read it from your mind?" Blue eyes met green, and he said, "I do not wish to force my way, Miss Wayne." He looked into her eyes, and then said, "Ah. I can see how that might lessen my workload. I do recall the last time this occurred." He considered, "We have an agreement, and I have not altered your mind."

"I do promise not to bother you unless it is necessary," she said, and he grinned as she slid her hand across the table. He reached for them, and she placed a finger on them. "Excuse me," and looked past him, "You two haven't paid to see these cards."

The Archangel Michael and Death took a few steps back, and she lifted her finger. "Thank you." He lifted the corners of the cards, peeking at the hand. Sliding them back, he dropped them on the two face-up Jokers and then slid them back in the box with the other cards. Tapping it with a finger, they turned to gold, and he stood. "Tap the cards when you need to play for real stakes, I look forward to your visit."

"Thank you for your assistance," she said, poker face intact. As she stood, she asked, "Death, a minute?" The two angels vanished with Selina, and Death approached, "Yes, Miss Wayne?"

"Mattie, please. I was thinking of a 'girls day off' sometime soon, and was wondering if you'd like to join us? Casual dress."

"I... I have never been asked," she replied. "The usual reaction to my appearance is fear."

"The scythe is a bit off-putting," Amanda said.

"I shall consider it," Death said, and a tombstone-shaped card appeared in her hand. "Summon... call me when it is scheduled, please." She vanished, and Mattie slumped, Tomas catching her as Arthur picked up the golden deck of cards.

--  
_**Thursday, April 19, 2002:  
Gotham City, St. Mark's: 16:45 (GMT -5)  
**_--

Within a ring of fire, Selina, Michael and Lucifer appeared in Father Timothy's office. He stood, "Selina, my dear, always a pleasure. May I ask who your two gentlemen are?"

She coughed a bit, "Certainly, this gentleman is the Archangel Michael, and this one is Lucifer Morningstar." The priest blinked a bit as he absorbed this, "What can I do for you?" He indicated chairs (Michael conjuring the third), and Michael finally spoke, "There was concern about the souls of Mrs. Wayne and her children."

"I see," Father Tim said. "May I offer refresh..." Lucifer waved his hand, glasses of ice water appearing. "Thank you, Mr. Morningstar." He took his seat, "Perhaps we should discuss this, then."

--  
_**Sunday, April 21, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 09:07 (GMT)  
**_--

Madame Pomfrey bustled up, only to be met with a drawn wand. "Oh, for heaven's sakes, Mr. Ramirez!" she whispered, not wanting to wake the other patients.

Tomas regarded her, "If you wish to see my sister, Senora, you will please give today's password," he asked softly, in deference to the sleeping werewolves all around them. Yesterday had been a full moon, after all.

Poppy regarded him. He had a foot on the inside of a chair leg, ready to fling it across the room, which would wake up all the werewolves in the room. Knowing the individuals as she did, Miss Tonks, who was sleeping in the next bed, would not be alone in taking exception to that. In addition, Mr. Ramirez was also from Gotham, and a Ravenclaw. There was no telling what kind of nasty spell he had ready, even though he was only a second-year.

'_Their paranoia has risen to new heights_,' she mused, adding to herself, '_I wonder if Filius wants company on his bimble to Gotham this summer_?' Straightening, she said, "Today's is _harpsichord_, Mr. Ramirez."

"Gracias," he said politely, sheathing his wand and stepping aside.

--

Charlie eyed Arthur across the table in the Great Hall, then continued his email home:

_... so that's the gist of the news from here. Mattie's back, and apparently being kept unconscious is different than sleeping. Even though she was gone for about two weeks, she was kept drugged during that period, so Miss Black and Madame Pomfrey are keeping her in for 'observation'. We've got rotating guard shifts on her, and since today's the day after the full moon, the Infirmary is full of werewolves sleeping it off. Since Jeremy graduated, we don't have a 'wolf in Hufflepuff, but he was the kind that did not get up easily._

_Arthur has on his desk in the dorm a solid gold deck of cards. They weigh two or three kilos, and it's an interesting tale, it looks like a regular boxed set of playing cards, but you can't open it, and Mattie used them to... I don't want to entrust that to email. I'll tell you when next I see you. _

_I'm looking forward to going off planet this summer. We're going to touch on at least two planets, Eridani III, and another one in the middle of the Orion Nebula. As you know, Mattie has arranged for weapons training, we've been using this really ugly Russian automatic shotgun. It's apparently a case of 'better to have and not use' and being visibly armed. Well, this thing weighs about eight or ten kilos, and has some really nasty ammo that hopefully I'll never have to use._

_I know you were kind of worried about me, but this school is _fun_! Much better than I would be in now, worrying about my GCSE exams, although I'll need to take those later, now that the Wizarding World is exposed. I heard a rumour that the Education Minister, Mr. Weasley, is negotiating with the muggle school board about those. We'll see how that plays, but I'm not too concerned._

_I'd best send this off, I wanted to reply to yours whilst it was fresh in mind. I've got a History essay I need to polish off and mail to Professor Lupin. As he's in the Infirmary himself (remember, he's a werewolf), he probably won't look at it for a day or so, but best to have it timestamped on schedule.  
Your son, Charlie _

--  
_**Monday, April 22, 2002:  
Washington, DC, House Judicial Affairs committee: 09:22 (GMT +5)  
**_--

"New Business?" the Chairman asked, knowing what was to come.

"Mr. Chairman, members of the committee," Janice Madison, Representative from Metropolis stood to address the committee. "We have all seen the news in the _New York Times_ (with a gesture to the New York representative), which has reported about the allegations against Mr. Luthor. In addition, other news sources, both here and overseas, have expanded and reported not only that Mr. Luthor, in his office of the President, has violated his oath to preserve, protect, and defend the nation and the Constitution, but he directly, or through his agents, has committed high crimes and misdemeanors against not only his political opponents, but members of the armed forces, and those under their care, including that of murder."

There was the usual murmur of background, but Janice had done her homework. It had certainly helped that Luthor had a supremely unpleasant, arrogant personality, but she had high-powered witnesses available, and of course, her own political skills. As Luthor had run, and won, as a dark-horse candidate, he didn't have the party backing he would have had normally. She took a sip of water, "May I continue, Mr. Chairman?"

Marcus 'Mark' Ramos, Chairman from New Mexico, who also sat on the Science and Technology committee, smiled. "Certainly, Ms. Madison. The floor is yours."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman. We have all seen the revolutionary new technology that has been developed by Arrowhead in London. I have a sworn deposition here from the former head of CIA," (she waved the papers) as well as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, that in not agreeing to the Arrowhead data-sharing agreement, Mr. Luthor has hazarded the safety and security of the United States."

"Excuse me," Sandra Hewitt, one of Luthor's few allies in the House asked, "Isn't that open source?"

"It is, but it is easier to collaborate than to reverse engineer," Davis Farmer, who had made his fortune in a San Francisco dot com, then ran for the House said. He also chaired the Science and Technology committee, sharing the same party with Ramos. He continued, "I've looked at how Arrowhead reverse-engineers the alien tech, and I'd love to get my hands on some of those contracts. Hell, just the licensing fees alone..." He waved his hand across the table at Hewitt, "Sandra, if the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs says that there's a danger, we need to pay attention. Hell, the _Canadians_ have made enormous strides in fusion tech in the last few months, and they're not a military threat, but if they can produce cheap electricity, it's going to reverse our balance of payments to them." He turned back, "Forgive me, Janice. Please continue."

She smiled, "Don't worry about it. As I was saying, he has hazarded the safety and security of the United States, which I declare as charge one. In addition, operating under his direct, written orders as Commander in Chief, members of the armed forces participated in kidnapping of American Citizens while no criminal charges had been found against them. I declare this as count two. Members of the US Secret Service, an agency of the Treasury, and members of the FBI, an agency of the Justice Department, again without criminal charges, but with Presidential orders, conducted a surveillance and illegal wiretapping campaign against American citizens. I declare this as count three. Finally, civilians, in the personal employ of Mr. Luthor, but operating under his orders and authority as President, did kidnap one Miss H. M. Wayne, keep her drugged into unconsciousness, and did murder in cold blood one General Keen, a serving, active duty soldier of the US Army, and one First Sergeant Meyers of the US Marine Corps, who was also on active duty." She paused, looking down the table, "I list and declare this as count four, as Mr. Luthor knew of the activities of his employee, Ms. Mercy Graves, and did not stop or refer her to judicial authorities for trial. I declare these four counts as qualifying as High Crimes, and file for the Impeachment of Mr. Lex Luthor, President of these United States." She nodded, smoothed her skirt and sat.

--  
_**Wednesday, April 24, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin dorms: 07:01 (GMT)  
**_--

"Oh, man, I am _so_ freaking behind," Mattie worried as she checked her appearance in the mirror. While she had gotten a bit of studying done, along with a couple of assignments, she still had several to do. "Fracking essays..." she grumbled.

"Oh, I love it!" Connie said, reading a copy of her mom's articles in the _Times_. "Luthor is going _down_, and she got a job offer in Metropolis. Thanks, Mattie."

"Hmm? I didn't offer her a job."

"No, the _Daily Planet_ did, some guy named White."

Mattie checked her appearance in the mirror again, "Uncle Perry? Cool."

--

Mattie looked up from her studies as the Headmistress tapped on her goblet. "Your attention, please." She surveyed the Great Hall from the High Table as the noise of her school settled down. "Thank you. Since our inadvertent ... unveiling, there have been discussions with the Ministry, Hogwarts and the muggle Education Ministry. Starting next year, we will be incorporating more muggle elements into our curricula, and our students will be sitting the standard muggle GCSE exams as well as their OWL and NEWT exams." She waited for the expected groans to subside, "Thank you. The sixth and seventh years have received an extension of a month past the end of classes, they may sit the GCSE examinations until 31 July. Fifth years will be taking them alongside their OWLs. All three of those years will receive extra study guides and assistance." There was a loud chorus of groaning as Minerva started to take her seat, she stood again and said, "May I remind you the faculty must also study the course materials, but we must be licensed to teach it as well. We shall all be going to summer classes at a London university."

"Wayne, why'd you have to let the secret out?" someone from Gryffindor complained. Julie stood, "She didn't, you idiot, and you're suggesting she let my nephew die?" she demanded of her housemate. Apparently she didn't like his look, because she let a hex fly.

--  
_**Wednesday, April 24, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Potion class: 17:03 (GMT)  
**_--

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes, Miss Wayne?" he asked as the class filed out. He leaned back in his chair, tenting his long fingers as he regarded her.

"I know I'm behind, but I've filed several essays already, and I'm going to be working with Professor Flitwick and Professor Chang this evening." He nodded as she continued, "Normally, in this kind of situation I wouldn't ask, but I've had several people ask when I'll be putting in a public appearance. Arrowhead and the Guard will be at a job fair in London this weekend, I was thinking I could go on Saturday, be seen, shake hands, and reassure people that I'm actually alive and well."

He grunted as he thought, contemplating a calendar. "I have received them. Be current at least through the 21st, you may go Saturday only, and you will be current as of Monday the 29th after you return." He looked up at her, "Off with you, I need to study muggle science."

--

_**Saturday, April 27, 2002:  
London, Earls Court Exhibition **__**Centre**__**, Arrowhead exhibit: 07:34 (GMT)**_

--

"Okay, what can I do to help?" Mattie asked as the company van parked.

"Nothing, really, we need to make sure the place is neat and tidy before the thundering herds arrive," Karen said from the driver's seat. "Take a couple boxes of applications with the cooler of water, would you?"

"Of course," she replied, getting out as the engine switched off. She walked to the back, setting her take-out coffee on the bumper as she opened the door to extract the cart.

--

Shernette paused, waiting in line to get in the door. On an ordinary job fair at Earls Court on a weekend, they might have up to two thousand visitors over the course of the day. When Arrowhead and the associated companies were exhibiting, they could easily figure on doubling that. Even though she was badged as an exhibitor, there was still a line at their side door. She stepped up, emptied her pockets and put her purse on the x-ray scanner, and let them run the wand over her. Picking up her boxes of employment applications and purse, she kicked herself again for leaving the hand cart here.

--

Tara Mays stopped short when she cleared security, the first thing she noticed was the Arrowhead display. Her sister pushed her, then stopped when she saw it too. "Blimey..." she whispered, then shook herself as a security guard asked her to "Move along, please."

"How do they do that?" Mara asked as they slowly walked along. A large metallic company logo, shaped like a hunting arrow spun in midair. Below that, a representation of the Earth/Moon system orbited, with miniature space stations, lights on the moon depicting... cities, she assumed. About knee height inside a clear plastic box, a small flat box with a 'Made in Canada' sticker blinked, cables running off it. A small sign informed them that 'This generator is powering the entire exhibit. _No city power is used_.'

"Wonders of antigravity, wot?" a young woman answered, a box of computer CD's in hand. "I'm Sprink, from Greywolf. Tried our flight simulator?" Her ID badge read, 'Sprink Tonks, Spokeswolf, Greywolf Transport, Ltd.' Handwritten below that was '_Intercontinental, Interplanetary, Interstellar_'. A young fellow came up, handing her a cup of takeaway, she accepted that, giving him a quick hug. He offered his hand, "Charlie Adams, I'm helping out this weekend."

"Tara, and this is my twin sister Mara," she replied. "Have you, um, been..." she waved her hand toward the ceiling.

"I haven't, but Sprink's been to the moon. We're hitting a couple planets this summer with Mattie," Charlie replied. "Should be grand. So, what are you two on for?"

"Internships," Mara replied. "We're both graduating..."

"We need people," Sprink replied, as Charlie stole her cup of tea for a gulp. "Do you get seasick, carsick, anything like that?" They shook their heads, and Sprink stole her tea back, pointing with a finger, "There's a rotating transfer machine there, give that a try." She held up her cup-holding hand, "All of our carpeted area is set for lunar gravity, one-sixth gee," she warned. "The transfer machine is for the L1 station, the L4 or L5 stations move faster. Good luck!"

--

They walked slowly down Greywolf's row, goggling like others were. There were substantial lines where the HR types were accepting applications, but there were also scale models of spacecraft, satellites, rovers, cranes and other lunar construction equipment (the bulldozer didn't seem _that_ strange), even reactors and a railroad. There was a scale model of an intraorbital shuttle bus (with miniature suited passengers), a busty blonde mannequin in a suit on a work platform (her name tag read 'Dahl, Barbara'), and a full-size shuttle pod with a plexiglass hatch, eight feet in diameter.

They stopped at a large, three dimensional drawing of Greywolf's location on the moon, in a place called Grimaldi, with underground construction bays, communication dishes, and so forth. A sign said, "Under Construction April 2002" with photos next to it. Another large display was a scale model of orbiting docks, hexagonal tubes with a central control room. Solar power arrays sprouted from them, a model spaceship was placed to emerge from one, others were half-assembled. Everything was spidery, looking like it was built out of black lace.

"I wonder..." Tara asked, a young woman in a business suit replied, "Wonder what?"

"Oh, just why have places on both the moon and in orbit?"

"Some things are easier to do in gravity," the young woman replied. Her ID tag read 'Amy Johnson, CEO, Greywolf Transport Ltd.'. "Laying carpet, drilling holes, pulling cable, that kind of thing. Other things are easier to do in zero-gee, like move big things around, and some manufacturing processes. What you have to remember there is mass, momentum, inertia." She took a sip from a water bottle, "Right now, we're doing the gravity assemblies in Ecuador, once the lunar site is assembled we'll be moving those people there. It should drop our costs quite a bit."

"And in space you don't have to worry about a gravity field's static load, but you still need to think about shear, compression, torsion, that kind of thing," Mara said. "That's why they look so delicate."

Amy nodded, "The solar arrays could never support themselves on Earth," she agreed as she fished out a card. "Interested?"

"An internship until we graduate," Tara said. Amy nodded, giving them each a business card.

--

"... I'm sorry, I really can't comment on it," Mattie told the reporter. "I've given a deposition, for however much that's worth, but I was unconscious until I was rescued. Sorry," she grinned at the reporter, who asked, "What else can you tell us, Miss Wayne?"

"I'm here at Earls Court in London, with the quarterly job fair, there's lots of excellent companies here besides Arrowhead," she said with a winning grin. "We're all in need of good employees, so polish up your CV and come by."

"And I'm Andrea Martin, BBC Five Live," she told the camera, holding her smile until the light went out. Tossing the mike to her cameraman, she said, "Thank you, Miss Wayne. Will you be playing in the pro-am charity this summer?"

"Not unless it's rescheduled," Mattie said. "I've got like a three zillion handicap, to the great despair of my CFO, Mr. MacAdam, a true-blue Scot. I'd do better with a pool cue on a golf course," she admitted with a grin. "No, I've got business off-planet this summer, so a scheduling conflict. I'm missing out on some weddings, too, although Arthur and I have already given our present."

"If I may, I'm in a similar situation, I need to give some wedding presents, and I'm clueless there," Andrea admitted.

"We gave each of the three couples a reservation at the L1 Holiday Inn, the bridal suites," she replied. "I do confess to an ulterior motive, the place just opened, so they're a bit of guinea pigs as well."

"L1?" Andrea said. "I'm sorry, I need a cuppa..."

"L1's our largest space station," she replied, gesturing with her hands. "Here's Earth, here's the Moon, L1 is in orbit here, between them. It's a bit expensive, because it includes a skinsuit, and that means you can't gain any weight between your fitting and the trip." She gestured, "A couple of my people are wearing them, they're the white bodysuits. They run about £3000 each, plus the trip up and down, so you're about £4500 each." She fished out a business card, "Send me an email, I'll connect you with the right people if you're interested."

--

_**Sunday, April 28, 2002:  
L5, docking level, security check-in: 10:41 (GMT)**_

--

Bill Morton waited patiently as the security guard checked in a family of four. He had sat with them on the long, eight hour shuttle flight from LEO station, they were an Egyptian family taking out a buoy tender. With a "Good Luck!" from the security fellow, and an answering "Inshallah!" from the father, he floated to the guard's position.

"Morning, guv, and what can I do for you?" the guard asked. His suit's nametag read 'Clarke, Alastair', and he had a squirt cover on the mug of tea. He noticed Bill's curious glance and grinned. As Bill was the last in line, he passed it over. A small magnet had been glued on the bottom, around the rim of the mug was a fitting that was glued on, a soft rubber bulb was screwed onto that. "Clever," Bill admitted.

"German bloke came up with it," Alastair said. "One of our war vets over on L4, right smart fellow, immediately went and patented it, licensed it to Greywolf. Different sizes available, cost right on 'alf a quid. Sells like mad, when they get the tourist bit going at L1, they should sell even more. Genuine space mug, y'know." His own mug read 'London is for Lovers', he added, "M' wife got it for me." He accepted it back, clicking it into place on his console.

"How do you fill it, though?"

"Bit of a trick, that. Tea, coffee, whatnot you set the volume on the machine, blend it to taste, then hit a trigger, it burps it out, you've got to be right quick to cover it, then you just screw the cover on. Takes a bit of practice, but I've seen blokes do it one-handed." He motioned to the back, "You'll generally see a list bunged on the wall of what everyone's preferences are. Tea with such-and-such of this and that, you set the machine, trigger and cap it. Makes sense, keeps you from trying to remember, or shout back and forth." He straightened up, "Now, guv, as you are the last bloke here, and I have one left on my list, you must be Mr. Morton."

"Guilty as charged."

"Onward, then," Alastair said. "You seem like a nice enough bloke, we'll forgo the cavity search." He grinned to show he was joking, "Your business, please?"

"We've got a ship in the yards, then on to the moon and Grimaldi."

"Inspection tour, right-o, give those slackers in the yards what-for. Duration here?"

"I was planning on three days here, then off to Grimaldi," Bill replied, then yawned. Alastair nodded, "Word of advice, guv, take a nap for a couple hours, get a bit of exercise, when you have a meal, have milk with it. The medical types worry about zero gee and your bones, one reason we have goats and a couple milk cows here. Take the ha'pence tour, but walk instead of riding the tram. You might want to walk the circumference of the wheel, right on a few kilometers. You'll have a third gee. Take a look at the farms, all fresh fruit and veg, there's a small shop there in Golf section that does wonderful things with chicken and fish. I suggested it to the family you saw. It's Scottish, a patio restaurant, lots of green growing things, but stay away from their Crappit." He shuddered, then hit a few keystrokes, and a printer rattled. He produced a pencil, making a couple X marks and circling a section, "I get the top copy, you get the yellow. I've circled the room allocation and your temporary passcode, change it at the desk once inside, please, sign on the X."

--

Bill collected his luggage, such as it was. A single duffle bag and his rented clear plastic pressurized tote, which still had his security tag on it. He extended the handle on the tote, bunged his duffle and helmet to it, and kicked off toward the elevator to G section.

--

He noticed why they called it 'Golf' section, it seemed to be the recreational section, as he had to avoid joggers and a couple playing Frisbee. It had extensive lawns, flowerbeds, a small orchard (still with young trees), and different sections named for famous courses. He checked his sign-in sheet, he was in 'Porthcawl', and followed the signs to number eleven.

Number eleven was one of a set of garden apartments set against the curve of the hull, three sets of four set on a gravel walk, a small sign identifying them. He typed in the four digit passcode, the lock buzzed, and he entered. There was a small living space and kitchen, a bedroom, bath, and a workdesk with a computer terminal. The kitchen and bath were set to the back, where plumbing connections could be made, the rest of the efficient little apartment was built of lightweight panels clipped together. Dropping the luggage, he checked the plastic sheet, then sat at the computer, typing in the language code for 'AU/UK/US English' and logging in.

--

_**Sunday, April 28, 2002:  
L5, habitat level: 13:36 (GMT)**_

--

Bill Morton walked along the path, keeping to the right so the joggers could run past, and viewed the sights. There was a clear view ahead of several hundred yards before the path curved up out of sight. If he looked up, he could see the curve of the hull through the windows, the massive spokes of the wheel, the pressurized elevator cars moving up and down to the central docking ring. He stopped for a minute as he watched the clear glass passenger elevators negotiate the automated airlocks between the unpressurized spokes and the torus. He remembered the jerks and jolts as the lock blades irised closed above and below the cars, as the flexible tube extended out those few inches to mate with the elevator car.

Aside from the three central spokes, there were local elevators moving through the lower decks of the torus, where the farms and other machinery were located. He stopped, looking over a railing at several layers of vegetables (lettuce was on top), with fish tanks next to them. He watched the catfish swim for a minute, heard the gurgle of pumps, then moved on.

--

"Mr. Morton, please, join us!" the Egyptian called. "Allah has blessed us with a beautiful day, we must share it with friends."

"Thank you, I was not looking forward to eating alone," he replied. "If you are certain I am not intruding?"

"We would not have offered if we did not mean it," the mother said. "Sit, eat with us, we are all visitors here, we may share experiences." Bill took a seat, the son leaned forward, "Please, what is your ship's name? I am Abdul Fayyum, pilot of the _Bahr Yussef_."

"Bill Morton, captain of the _Olentangy_. We're going to Uranus for deuterium and helium-3. Possibly Titan also, we're going to drop a probe and see what it says."

"Best to look first," the father agreed. "I am Ahmed, the captain, my daughter Huda, our engineer, and of course my wife Najla, our cargo mistress. We are under contract to the Guard for emplacing the navigational buoys, and if Allah wishes it, we may claim an asteroid."

"That brings up a question, I hope I don't offend..."

"We do not know until we hear it," Ahmed said. "Please, speak your question, if it gives offense we shall inform you."

Bill nodded his head, "I was wondering how you were going to perform daily prayers. As I understand it, you must face Mecca to do so?"

"Indeed, but Allah is wise, we may simply face toward Earth," Abdul replied. "In addition, like flying an aircraft, we may postpone our prayers if we are doing something critical at that time." Bill nodded, and Abdul continued, "May I ask in return? What is an 'Olentangy'?"

--

_28 April, 2002  
To: Maggie Morton  
From: Bill Morton, Sr.  
Subject: L5 trip_

_Maggie:  
I arrived safely this morning, took a quick nap, then got some exercise. I went out for dinner to a Scottish place here on L5, where they had incredibly fresh veggies and meat (chicken and fish). Taking the advice of a local, I've been drinking milk for the calcium, although things like beans are also popular here for that reason. There's a Cajun restaurant that has forty different bean recipes here, vegetarian food is popular, but chicken and fish aren't shunned._

_My dinner companions last night were a family from Cairo, they are taking out a buoy tender for the Guard. Tomorrow I'll be taking the commuter shuttle to the building slip to check on the __Olentangy__. Huda, the engineer of the __Bahr Yussef__, gave me a list of things to watch out for, and problems she had at our stage. I'll send you a report for the Association tomorrow. _

_It's about 9:30 or so London time here, so I'm going to send this off and go to bed.  
Love to all!  
Bill _

--

_**Monday, April 29, 2002:  
L5, building slips Gamma array, office: 07:57 (GMT)**_

--

"Good morning," Bill said as he removed his helmet. "I'm supposed to ask for, um, Marilyn Monroe?"

"Bloody hell, who told you that?" the young blonde that he had followed in asked. "That's my nickname, someone thought I looked like her. My name's Charlie, you must be the bloke I'm expecting, Mr. Mofton?"

"Morton, actually. Sorry about that, although..."

"Yes, yes. I'm used to it. Now, Mr. Morton, we need to get you a hard hat." She slapped her own helmet, which she had clipped to the wall. "You can use our spare, you know how the umbilicals work?"

"I used them on the flight over from the station," he said mildly. "They provide power, comms, and air." He tapped the connector on his chest, and she nodded.

"Good, you're not a bloody stupid tourist. Remember, this is a shipyard, a construction site. You've got two waist lanyards, you don't move without one being connected to a slider bar on either the work platform or the frame. There are three of them, forty-five degrees apart. They are also on a work platform. The platform's controls have a joystick on the right which moves it horizontally, a lever moves it up and down, and a red switch on the side of the box locks it in place. Got that?" he nodded.

"Mah-vel-os," she said. "These building slips are fifty meters long, twenty meters across. There are four work platforms per slip, mounted centerline on each slip, top, bottom, left, right. The airlock entrance is considered 'top'. Each work platform is a set of arms with a maximum length of twenty meters. With a twenty meter umbilical, and there is a connector on each platform, you should have no difficulty reaching any location." He nodded, "One last thing, Mr. Morton. Emergency squawk is 9999." She pointed to the floating tag on his vest. "You use that in jest, Mr. Morton, the wrath of God will descend on you."

"Rightly so," he said.

"Good. You don't seem like a stupid twit." She smiled at him, and passed him a steel clipboard with magnetic bands securing papers. Checking the point on a pencil, she stuck it in an electric sharpener, then tied it to a ring on the board. Handing the assembly to him, she said, "A plain old pencil works well in space. For any notes you might have. You're in slip five, Mr. Blake is the bloke in charge of your ship. Now, let's get you that hard hat."

--

If Bill were to look at the array of building slips, zero would have been at twelve, and slip five would have been at the ten o'clock position. However, with zero-gee's grand contempt for 'up' and 'down', that was irrelevant. His borrowed 'hard hat', actually a reinforced steel helmet with a high-density plastic face shield and a flip-up sun/welding shield, was painted bright green. He had velcro'd on some magnetic plates for his shoes, and met Mr. Blake.

--

"... so that's the problem, Bill," Mr. Blake said. "We did a pressure test for the other modules, they ran up to ten atmospheres fine. However, you see the fine red lines on the white paint?" Bill rocked forward as a 'nod' as Blake continued, "We've got bad welds on this compartment, we're going to have to pull the wiring to get at them, essentially redo the compartment, then repaint and retest."

"Why not swap out the module?"

"We've got several like this, they're over in slip two. Bad QC in Ecuador, and it would cost too much to ship them back and forth. If this had happened in the cargo compartment, it wouldn't have been such a pain, but in the engineering compartment..." he shrugged.

Bill looked around the hexagonal compartment. Ten meters across and long, it was open at the forward end, where the aft end of the airlock would be sealed. He floated outside the compartment with Blake, while two workers floated on their 'sides' pulling wires and conduit away from the seams. Outside, a heavy cable snaked between the slip's power point and the compartment's, allowing a third worker to chip paint away from seams for the rewelding work to be done. "How long?" he asked.

"Another two or three weeks," Blake replied. "It's under warranty, that's our fight, not yours. Let me show you the outside, let these guys work."

--

Bill let Mr. Blake fly the platform, avoiding the cables that anchored the modules in place. There was a few meters of separation between the engineering module, the aft end of the slip, and the compartments forward. He paused, pointing 'down' at the outside. "The sphere is where your reactor vessel is. The white cap means it's not fueled, if it were, it would have a yellow top and be sealed. That's those red wax seals you were asking about, we put them in to seal breaker boxes and such. Easier to use than a bunch of keys, and they can be easily broken in an emergency. You guys would use blue wax on your seals. Anyway, you can see the spherical pressure vessel is mounted on a thick bracket, the drive field coils on either side. You've got the shielding, concrete and boron, machinery, pressure tanks for the helium, your gas turbine mounted to the forward bulkhead. You've got the DC generator for the drive and assorted pumps and whatnot, above that on the same shaft the AC generator. 240 volts. On either side you've got the various transformers for stepping up and down the voltage. We've tested all this to the inboard side of the transformers, that's the green tags under the red seals. The wiring that we're going to have to rip out tested fine, the electrician that did it knew what they were doing, it's the welder that was lazy."

"You're not a Brit, are you?"

"Nah, from Phoenix. You're somewhere in Ohio, aren't you?"

"Columbus."

"Sorry about the Buckeyes. Maryland had a hell of a basketball team this year, though." He gestured, "You wanna see anything here, or should we go forward?" Bill gestured forward, and Blake said, "They're not pressurized, no reason to right now. Next compartment after the lock is the cargo hold, it's pressurized normally, for things like food. After that is the personnel compartment, forward lock with the pod on the top, and the bridge. Now, we've tested all that as far as we can, after we join the compartments we'll retest and re-certify with the Guard."

"Sounds good, but I'd like to see..."

--


	17. Weeks 36 39, 131 May, 2002

A/N: I apologize to everyone for the delay. I am apparently the recipient of unrequested user profile changes, the system rejects any uploads other than simple text (I get 'Waiting for www fanfiction net...' and then it times out.), and I'm on a fast DSL circuit. Since my copy of Open Office J for the Mac doesn't have the ability to find and replace formatting marks like carriage returns, I have to take the written file and then re-write it to fit ff net on my W2k laptop, as it has Office and Word. Otherwise, it would be one long (60+ page) run on sentence without formatting of any kind (spaces, punctuation, etc.). It's a work-around, and I've emailed support, they haven't seen fit to reply.

* * *

For disclaimers, please see chapter one.

17 - Weeks 36 - 39, 1- 31 May, Fourth Year  
Wednesday, May 1, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Staff room: 07:17 (GMT)

"On to new business," Minerva said, and took a deep breath in anticipation. "I have spoken, as you know, to the muggle Ministry of Education. They will present us with an accelerated course in Education which will allow us to be licensed on a provisional basis as a state school. This will occupy our time this summer, we also have available courses we may take on-line to achieve a regular teacher's certificate from King's College in London." She let the grumbling continue for a moment, then rapped her knuckles, "This will allow you to keep your job whilst you gain the formal degree."

"That will take up quite a bit of time," Pomona Sprout said.

"It will," the Headmistress acknowledged. "One way that has occurred to me is to reduce the amount and length of assigned essays. I've looked into this, there are quite a few schools that utilize quizzes and multiple-choice into their homework," she glared down Filius, who was something of a conservative, being the oldest faculty member, "both muggle and wizarding. There are samples available on the Maginet. Another option that has occurred to me is to utilize prefects to mark homework. A sixth or seventh year is more than capable of assisting the lower years."

"I would be glad to get away from reading all the essays," Cho Chang said.

"Indeed," Severus agreed. "However, some of the combinations they describe are incredibly lethal." He tented his fingers, "We would need to spot-check their work, of course."

"Of course," Harry Potter agreed. "I've always wanted to go on to college myself, although it does eliminate your bimble to Gotham, Filius."

"My trip to Mongolia is off," Lara Croft said. "I had a good lead on Temujin's tomb, also."

"Who?" someone asked.

"Genghis Khan," Professor Lupin replied. "I am not looking forward to merging wizarding and muggle history lessons."

"It must be done if our students will have... legitimate... academic transcripts," Minerva said. She took a breath, "I believe with our current staff we can cover the core requirements for the GCSE with a few options. In addition, we will be receiving government funding, which will allow a bit of rise in your pay packets." There was a muffled cheer as her wand twitched and parchment floated to everyone. "For things like physical education, you'll see the requirement is for a student to have at least two hours of exercise per week. While a great number of our students already do this..."

"Unlike some faculty I could name..." Poppy said, leaning forward and looking around the room.

"...Yes." Minerva said, recapturing the conversation. "I will be sitting down with the Heads to rework the schedules, we may be combining years for PE, and it will also be sex-segregated. These persons will also have the dubious distinction of having 'the talk' with their charges. For the young ladies..." the women tensed, "...Lara, I believe you would be the best, and for the young gentlemen..." now it was the men's turn, "...Hagrid. An athletic costume will be required, please allow fifteen minutes change time in your planning. I shall be getting together with you later." She looked at her staff, "I shall be sitting down with you in different groups. We will be hosting a preliminary inspection for OFSTED in two weeks," Harry and Lara groaned, and Minerva asked, "What's wrong?"

"They're OFSTED," Lara said, as if that was enough explanation. Harry tried to explain, "They're the schools inspectorate. They're going to want to see teaching plans, samples of student notes, they'll sit in on classes, examine everything, and find fault with it."

"They're muggles, too," Lara added. "When they see things flying about, or chairs with feathers, or teacups with turtle legs..." She looked across the table, "Severus, I will bet fifty galleons you'll have to move."

"Why?"

"Underground laboratories with dangerous substances and no emergency exits," Lara said.

"We shall see," Severus said. "When will these... muggles, I mean inspectors arrive?"

"The afternoon of Saturday the eleventh," Minerva said. "They will stay for a week. Lara, can you and Harry pick them up at the airport?" They nodded as she moved on, "Next item, we have received..."

* * *

"You can do it, Bill," Mattie panted as she ran with him. "Just another little bit, we'll get some water up ahead, then we can get back to the castle."

"How... much... further..." he puffed.

"See the shop with the blue and yellow awning ahead?" she asked. He nodded, "We turn right there, a few hundred yards to where Mr. Toynbee has his greengrocers and we get some water."

"Sounds... good... to... me..." he agreed.

"I pay him twenty quid every two weeks to have some liter bottles of water on ice for us," she said, as she maneuvered him into a turn. Ahead, she could see Sprink and the others make the next turn. For his first long run, Bill was doing well. However, two weeks of unconsciousness was having an effect on her own stamina. "We don't stop, though, we just grab them out of a cooler and keep going. When it starts to get hot, I'll bring a bandanna, scoop some ice into it and tie it onto the back of my neck."

"Why... not... stop..." he asked.

"You'll stiffen up," she replied. "Good morning, Mr. Toynbee! This is Bill, he's just starting today."

"Exercise 'tis a good thing, lad," the grey haired Scot said. "Y'keep wi' th' lassie, she'll steer y' straight." He nodded at the motorcycle cop, part of the security Mattie had, and said, "William, how d' ye be?" to the officer as he grabbed a bottle as well. They waved as they continued on, behind them Mr. Toynbee pulled the three bottles left out of the cooler, dumping the icy slush over some of his vegetables to keep them cool. The officer revved his engine, riding ahead of them to the next turn as they continued their run.

"So... what... do... you... think..." he asked.

"When I'm running?" she replied. "I use it to clear my head, think about my problems, what I'm going to do," as she guided him into another turn. "Home stretch, all downhill from here," she added. "You're doing great, Bill." He nodded his thanks as they ran in silence for a while. She pointed up ahead, "See that white stone cairn on the left? Just past that is the turnoff for Hogsmeade." He looked at it as they ran past, it was barely two feet high, very easy to miss, especially at night. The overgrown path had anti-muggle defenses to obscure it. He looked ahead and could see Hogwarts on the hill before him.

"Through Hogsmeade, up the path and once around the Quidditch pitch and we're done," Mattie told him. "I never did hear about how you caught the Snitch."

"I... lucked... into... it..," he replied. "Professor... Snape... handed... me... your... broom..., and..." He waved at Mrs. Potter, who was just entering the Hogsmeade branch of the Wheeze. She waved back, the twin's carriage floating behind her, as he continued, "I.. was... so... scared.., but... I... knew... I... couldn't... let... us... down."

"Up the hill," Mattie said, "You can do it. What then?" she asked as they passed Dervish & Banges, almost to the end of the High Street. They turned as he continued, "I... kicked... off.., and... orbited... when... I... saw... it... flying... below... and... behind... the... French... girl..."

"I'm sure Gabrielle wasn't happy with that," she said, motioning toward the next turn. They started to lap the Quidditch pitch as he chuckled. "No... she... wasn't," he admitted.

"That sounds like my first catch," she admitted as they rounded the second turn. "Start to slow down now to a walk," she advised him, as they saw the other runners sitting on the school's steps.

"Like you've been doing?" he asked with a grin as he stopped, flopping back on the grass.

"Hey, it wasn't my usual pace, but I've been out of commission for a couple weeks," she agreed, flopping down next to him. "Congratulations, Bill, you've just completed five kilometers, or three miles. I said I'd get you ready for the marathon."

"I did, didn't I?" he asked, somewhat disbelieving it.

"You did," Amy said, reaching down to pull him to his feet. "Hot shower, hot as you can stand it, then a quick burst of cold and you'll be ready for breakfast. Good job, Morton."

* * *

Wednesday, May 1, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table: 07:47 (GMT)

Julie looked up as the Faculty entered from their weekly meeting. Professor McGonagall tapped on her goblet, "Your attention please." She waited for the noise to die down, then continued, "Thank you. A brief announcement, in approximately two weeks, we shall be hosting a preliminary inspection team from OFSTED." The muggle-born among them groaned, the Headmistress had a tight smile. "You will give them your full and complete co-operation, some of you will be asked to show your class notes to the beginning of the year." There was another groan, and she continued, "The pranksters among you are hereby warned. There will be NO pranks pulled on them, no matter how much you think they deserve it. This may include expulsion and criminal charges." She glowered at them, then added, "We shall be sprucing up the castle, we shall award house points for your assistance. Therefore, if you have a particularly good painting charm, use it on the walls, not on the inspectors. Any questions, please see your Heads. Thank you," she concluded, sitting down to a late breakfast.

* * *

Wednesday, May 1, 2002:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place, Morton home: 18:12 (GMT -5)

Maggie Morton set her purse down, pulling off her shoes and putting them away. As she changed, she waited for the computer to come on. From the bathroom, she heard the little chime that announced 'You've got mail!'

_Date: 1 May, 2002  
To: Mom (home)  
CC: Dad (London), Elena (Corfu), Morton, Julia, Morton, Arthur  
From: Morton, William  
Subject: School news!_

_Mom,_

_Thanks for forwarding Dad's email to us, the station sounds like a cool place to visit. I know you've been on me to do more exercise, today I went out and ran with Mattie and her morning running buddies. It was a stretch, but I managed to complete a three mile course before breakfast. Yay, me! I am so pumped about this!_

_Second bit of news, we're going to be having an OFSTED inspection team come in a couple weeks. From what my muggle housemates say, they're rather feared by schools, who tend to slap a fresh coat of paint and their best faces on. There's a prohibition on pranking them, which some people will simply take as a challenge. Don't worry, I'm not planning on doing anything to them._

_The charms practice we had this summer continues to pay, I got another three points from Professor Flitwick for doing a charm correctly on the first attempt! Yay, me again!_

_Professor Chang said that she would be requiring more practical demonstrations, and less essays for homework. I'm certainly not objecting, I hate writing essays, but I've got one to finish for History._

_Love to all!  
Bill_

_Date: 1 May, 2002  
To: Mom (home)  
CC: Dad (London), Elena (Corfu), Morton, William, Morton, Arthur  
From: Morton, Julia  
Subject: Re: School news!_

_Mom,_

_That is so cool about Bill! I didn't know that. He's always been more of an athlete than I am - let's face it, riding a broom is not exercise. I promise, I'll talk to Arthur about it, he's been insinuating that I should do more, but running doesn't seem like my thing._

_Way to go, Bill! Professor Snape was rather distracted this morning, he didn't even assign a detention when a cauldron blew up in class, just docked fifteen points. For him, that's practically ignoring it. All of the professors have been rather distracted today, Professor Lupin, who normally has a great, fun class, just had us reading instead of the usual back-and-forth discussion. He spent quite a bit of time on his classroom computer, too._

_Speaking of which, I need to finish eating dinner and get to work, I have a Charms essay to finish._

_Julie_

Surprisingly, there was also a brief one from Arthur:

_Date: 1 May, 2002  
To: Mom (home)  
CC: Dad (London), Elena (Corfu), Morton, William, Morton, Julia  
From: Morton, Arthur  
Subject: Re: Re: School news!_

_Mom,_

_Good for you, Bill, and Julie, you can come shoot baskets with us. From what I hear, the requirement is a minimum of two hours PE every week, so you're going to have to do something. Some of the people have kicked around (bad pun, I know), a footy (soccer) house team. See what happens with that in Gryffindor._

_Arthur_

Maggie finished reading and printing them, then looked at another one, this one from Minerva McGonagall:

_Date: 1 May, 2002  
CC: obscured  
From: Minerva McGonagall  
Subject: Hogwarts school information_

_Greetings,_

_You are aware of the recent revelation of Hogwarts, and indeed the wizarding world's existence in the muggle media. Part of that has been a greater scrutiny, which has both good points and bad._

_To the good, this will mean increased funding from government sources, however this brings along with it greater oversight and higher costs. Hogwarts will be hosting a preliminary inspection team from OFSTED, the school oversight agency, to ensure that we are up to scratch._

_While this means we cannot continue to operate as we have for the past several centuries, it also means that your student will achieve a legitimate GCSE certificate, allowing them to proceed on to higher education. The drawback is that with a small staff, a number of optional courses will not be available to the Hogwarts students next year. In addition, a mandatory Physical Education programme will require athletic dress for your student, which will increase your costs. When we have more information you will receive it._

_As always, I am at your disposal should you have any questions._

_Minerva McGonagall  
Headmistress  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"Mom!" Teela called upstairs. "Dinner's on, I made spaghetti!"

"Coming!" she replied, taking the printouts for her family to see.

* * *

Thursday, May 2, 2002:  
Luna, Port Oldridge, docking bay: Hour 98/708

The transfer shuttle touched down neatly on the circular pad, and Bill Morton heard a series of thumps. He looked out the window, and all he could see was a concrete blast wall. With a jerk, the spherical shuttle pod started to lower, the last view he had was an iris closing overhead.

The underground bay was fairly large, Bill (along with other newbies) looked through his window, the pad next to him had a large scissor-lift rising up to the surface. With a jerk, they stopped, and an arm with a pressure tube extended toward his shuttle. With a clank, it mated, and he heard an announcement over his helmet speakers. He touched the arm control to turn it down a bit.

"Welcome to Port Oldridge," a woman's voice said. "Please wait for your row to be called to disconnect your umbilical, the pod IS NOT pressurized, but the tube is. Cargo and luggage will be unloaded whilst you process through security. Have a nice day, and may I have level one, row A, seats one and two please?"

Bill looked at the number on the aluminum deck between his feet: Level 3, Row E, Seat 1. He settled back as well as he could, it would be a while.

_Date: 2 May, 2002  
To: Maggie (home)  
From: Bill Morton  
Subject: Traveling_

_Mags,_

_Well, I'm here on the moon again, at Port Oldridge. No direct flights yet, I went from L5 to the big station at L1, then on to lunar orbit and landing. Just like connecting through St. Louis, you sit and wait. What L1 needs is a snack bar in the zero-gee section, although it would probably be just as overpriced as any Terran airline hub._

_As a 'developer', which gives me somewhat of a slightly higher status than an ordinary working stiff, I rate a progress development briefing. There is a combination railroad/power bus that is being built around the equator. The idea is that since half of the moon is always lit, power can be transferred from light to dark side. It makes sense, but it's going to be a heck of a job. I'm just glad it's not ours. However, the branch going west toward Grimaldi has made good progress, we may actually be able to ride it by the end of the year, even if it's not complete._

_The 'train' is actually a monorail design, so it should be able to get a good turn of speed, I would think at least a couple hundred miles an hour. That would put Grimaldi almost within commuting distance of Oldridge and the main port. I'll have more information later._

_The room isn't as nice as L5's was, this one is bored out of rock, and shows it, no matter the sealing layer of concrete and paint. However, the floor-to-ceiling picture window is stunning. The view is fabulous, although I wonder how long it will be before something like that becomes routine?_

_I've taken some photos, which are attached. It's been a long day, so I'm going to bed, I'll email you later._

_Love to all,  
Bill_

* * *

Friday, May 3, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Potions class: 12:00 (GMT)

"Miss Wayne, a minute?" Professor Snape said. She paused, and he said, "We have a visitor who wishes to have lunch with you. Perhaps you remember her, Miss Parkinson?"

Mattie hesitated, obviously flipping through a mental index, then said, "Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin, class of 1999, dark hair, brown eyes. VP of Parkinson Construction. Drives a silver 2001 Mercedes SL73 with the V12 engine, a very rare convertible." She smiled slightly, "How did I do?"

He nodded slightly as a young woman in an expensive skirted suit said from the doorway, "Helena Martha Wayne, also Slytherin, class of 2005, sixth place on the Financial Times list of British billionaires, nominated for 2001 'Man of the Year', American from Gotham, occlumens." She stood from where she had been leaning against the door frame, "How did I do?"

Mattie nodded as Pansy walked over to Severus, taking his hands and giving him an air kiss. "Severus, how are you? Still terrorizing the Gryffindors?"

"It is my duty," he replied modestly. "How may we assist you?" He held out an arm, gesturing her toward the door.

"I was wondering if I might borrow Miss Wayne for lunch," Pansy said as she waited for Severus to ward the classroom door. "I understand there are new developments going in, and I wanted to get my foot in the door."

"Any particular planet?" Mattie asked as she waited in the corridor. "If you're thinking construction, you're going to have to have some heavy lifters, and a way to fuel and service them, not to mention housing for your crews."

"I was thinking Mars to start with," Pansy said as she took Severus' arm.

"Then we need to invite Ms. Johnson along for Greywolf," as she started up the corridor toward the Great Hall.

* * *

"Miss Johnson?" Professor Snape asked. "I would like to introduce Ms. Parkinson." Amy looked up from the Ravenclaw table, seeing a young woman in an expensive skirted suit. She knew this pleasant young woman was a Slytherin, she had the easy, natural arrogance and sense of entitlement that all members of the Snake's Den acquired. Ms. Parkinson could have been dressed in rags, and she would have known, just as she knew that it was likely to be extremely profitable for her company, and that she would have to be extremely careful from here on out. The best negotiator to deal with a Slytherin was, after all, another Slytherin.

Standing, she extended her hand, "Ms. Parkinson, a pleasure."

"Ms. Parkinson would like to extend a luncheon invitation for you and Miss Wayne. I shall handle matters with Professor Flitwick for you." Unsaid was the Potion Master's desire to see a profit for both he, and Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Professor. Orla, would you be kind enough to take care of my things?" The seventh-year nodded, and Amy stepped away from the table, "After you."

* * *

"Italian all right?" Pansy said as the Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. Amy climbed out of the back seat as the roof closed. She locked the car, passing the attendant a folded banknote with the instruction, "Keep an eye on my baby, please." He nodded as they walked the few meters to the restaurant, where more notes went to the maitre-d.

"One of the few things the Hogwarts elves don't do well is Italian," Pansy said later, sipping her wine. Amy and Mattie had stuck to ice water as the meal progressed. "Let's talk Mars," she said.

"We are still negotiating with the planet's owner," Mattie said. "However, we do have permission to put in orbital works, and we have a nice satellite in orbit, Phobos, which just needs hollowing out to be a supply and maintenance base." She smiled, and Pansy smiled back, and Amy knew that she was watching two sharks.

* * *

"Oh. My. God." Amy said as she entered the sanctuary of Ravenclaw tower. Orla looked up as Amy staggered to an overstuffed armchair, flopping into it, and asked, "What's an 'oh my god'?"

"I just had a business lunch with two Slytherins," Amy replied, taking a deep breath, then another. She looked up at her housemates, "You know the school's unofficial motto is '_Don't fuck with Wayne_?'" Chang Li nodded, and the Cortez twins drifted closer. "She's perfectly nice..." one objected.

"Oh, they were both nice," Amy said. "Perfectly polite, casual business meeting in a small Italian restaurant in Inverness. Both of them were nice..." and she took another deep breath. "Two of them, nice, friendly sharks, and I was the cod they were circling."

"You're not a cod," Orla said, climbing down from the ladder she was on. She set the book she had found on her pile, explaining to her house mates, "Slytherin looks at people differently."

"How so?" Chang asked.

Orla leaned over a high-backed chair, "Those of you fifth-year and over, you'll remember what the school was like the last year of the Dark Lord, before Professor Harry took him out?" Amy and several others nodded as Orla explained, "I was doing homework help for one of the Slytherins then. I was a third-year, and Vincent was a seventh, but I was a Pureblood and a Ravenclaw, so I was marginally correct for him."

"Correct?" Hartley Ravensworth asked. The tall Keeper said, "Politically Correct, you mean?"

Orla nodded. "The Dark Lord was concerned with blood status," and looked up as Professor Croft appeared from the shadows. She motioned, and Orla continued, "The pureblood families, like the Malfoys, the Weasleys, the Blacks, and so forth. You had to marry into and between those families, and also between families that held the same political beliefs yours did."

"So it's like only marrying into a Welsh family, but one that's been Conservative," Hartley said.

"Correct, but Conservative for several generations at a minimum," Orla said. "Anyway, Vincent explained what was going on in Slytherin house. I don't think he was supposed to, they do like to keep their secrets," and people chuckled. "For those of you who weren't here, all that last year, there was tension on which side Slytherin House was going to go with, for or against the Dark Lord." She paused a moment, "You know Slytherin is numerically the smallest house. They are, however, the most powerful, economically, politically, and socially."

"It wasn't just the students," Lara Croft added. "In the staff room, we were waiting to see how the Slytherin faculty were going to play their hands." She shook her head, "I was not looking forward to dueling someone like Severus Snape." She motioned back to Orla, "Please continue."

Orla shook herself, "In any case, what was going on was each member of Slytherin was... well, fighting is a bad word choice. Maybe 'engaged' is better. In any case, what Vincent said was that each Slytherin considered each of their house mates to fall into one of three categories: Useful Ally, Potential Competitor, or Obstacle." She looked over at Amy, "That's why I said you weren't a cod. They considered you a Useful Ally, so they'll work with you, protect you, promote your business and so forth, because in doing so, it advances their goals."

Lara nodded, "That matches what I've found out. It also explains what happened with several student disappearances that year." She looked at her students and house mates, "A Potential Competitor may become an Ally, and Obstacles are eliminated. Slytherins are not only chess players, they're poker players." She claimed a seat on the couch in front of the fire, "We never found out who had those students eliminated. There were several factions that we knew of in Slytherin, and the dead students came from both sides, so we couldn't say it was the Death Eaters, and the Slytherin faculty weren't talking. In addition, Fudge was in power then, it wouldn't surprise me that they had infiltrated and influenced the Auror office and the Wizengamot. There was never any evidence of who, or why, just a dead body laid out on the bench next to the lake one morning." She motioned, "Please continue."

"Er, yes," she said, a little rattled. Someone else asked, "Does that mean that Wayne, or another Slythie will start killing?"

"No." Lara said definitely. "First of all, Wayne has taken an oath not to kill. Now, I admit, she's come close to that a few times, but only when a blood relative was in deadly danger, or there's already been blood spilled. Remember when our beloved former Minister Fudge had her aunt kidnapped? Wayne attacked, and Fudge held the Cruciatus on her, Wayne that is, for several minutes?"

"Oh, god, I remember when Malfoy was torturing us with that," one of the Cortez sisters said. "Our first year, and I wanted to die."

"Fudge held Wayne under Cruciatus for several minutes?" someone asked. "Why?"

"I think it was because he didn't know what else to do," Lara said. "Wayne was knocked down, but she kept crawling toward him, blood on her face, while he held the curse on her. Of course Fudge was an incompetent wizard, I wonder why he was sorted into our house." She shook herself, "I've seen the recordings, I'm not surprised she set her sights on Fudge, and she destroyed him."

"How?"

"Not like a Gryff," Lara said with a small smile. "She ruined him financially, by taking out first Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy that is, destroying his financial support, then with that gone, Fudge's ministry went bankrupt. Fudge was scrabbling for knuts at the end, in order to maintain his power base."

Amy inhaled sharply, then said, "That explains the terrorist, the child care terrorist. She said that he'd spilled the blood of her relative..." She paused, "But she only broke his arm..."

"Because he didn't give the orders," Chang Li said. "Remember on her press conference, she specifically mentioned the Elysee Palace in Paris?"

"And she's said she has 'plans in place' for France," Amy added. She paused, then whispered softly, "She's going to overthrow the French government..."

"She may not have to," Li pointed out. "The French presidential runoff is coming up. If they change leadership, what would be the point?"

"They've spilled blood," Lara countered. "Not only of her relatives, but of her friends. What about the American government?"

"Luthor?" one of the Cortez twins asked. "He hasn't spilled blood..."

"That we know of," her sister added. "There is a bill to impeach Luthor going through Congress..." She shook herself, "I'm sorry. What were you saying, Orla?"

"Oh, yes," she gathered her thoughts, "Vincent was saying that every Slytherin was playing this, well, multi-sided chess match with the rest of the House. In addition, a lot of them were pureblood, and their relatives, their parents were forcing them to join the Dark Lord, so there was a lot of plotting and scheming, and alliances that were built on sand. Nobody knew from one day to the next what was going to happen, it was a fight not only for survival, but victory."

"I'm amazed some of them went to class," Louis Bourmont said.

"Not only class, but OWLs and NEWTs," Lara said. "What did he say about the other houses?" she asked as she conjured a bottle of water.

"Ravenclaw was considered 'Useful Tools'," she said. "That's why we were generally left alone. Hufflepuff, they generally thought of them as, well, worker bees, to be ignored, not a threat, and Gryffindor..."

"Yes?"

"Cannon fodder," and someone added, "That's an apt description. What else did he say?"

"When the Dark Lord finally attacked," Orla said, "They had to declare themselves. A surprising number had been playing false cards, and stood against Voldemort, but others had to obey family orders, and stood with the Dark Lord. That's why I was so surprised to see their Quidditch team appear, in their House robes, and fight against the Dark Lord."

"So was Albus," Lara said, adding "I always thought he was mis-sorted, like some others."

"Who?"

"Anne Bundy in Slytherin, she should have been in Ravenclaw, like Granger in Gryffindor. Both of them are bloody geniuses, but they and Alastair are the only ones who know why they went where they did, and none of them are going to talk." Lara took a sip of water, "Another one was Potter, he's shown definite Slytherin tendencies, as has his wife, Ginny. Both would have made excellent Slythies, and Albus Dumbledore has always been a chess player, a manipulator." She raised her bottle of water, taking another sip, "In any case, I agree. To get back to the original point, you're not a cod. How much is this worth?"

Amy thought, "This contract? Millions of pounds, at the least."

"Contract for what?" Orla asked.

"Development of Phobos," Amy said. "Greywolf has the transportation contract." She waved her hand, "At least I think so. There will be open bids, but I think we've got it." She looked up, "Who has something alcoholic? I need a drink."

* * *

Friday, May 3, 2002:  
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 13:04 (GMT +2)

Elena's computer 'pinged', and she read the email her mom had forwarded from her dad. She didn't go into it deeply, just enough to know he was all right, she had reserved time in the simulator, which she didn't want to miss.

* * *

Friday, May 3, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table: 15:04 (GMT)

"Oh, cool!" Julie said as she checked her email, reading the forwarded message. "My dad sent pictures from the moon."

"Rub it in, Morton," someone replied.

* * *

Friday, May 3, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin dorms: 22:24 (GMT)

"This is James on MFR, talk to me!"

"Hey, James, here's a clue, it's a document the US has but England doesn't."

Gary thought for a minute as a ticking sound effect played. A buzzer sounded, and he leaned forward, "All right, caller, what's today's event?" the DJ asked.

"1791, the first European constitution was declared in Poland."

"You're right. England doesn't have a constitution," James said after a minute. "You've beaten us, stumping the chumps, what's your name, we'll need to get that for your prize."

"Mattie Wayne."

"Oh, the Queen is back!" Gary said. "How are you doing, your highness?"

"I lucked into the question," she replied. "Homework for history class."

"I've always enjoyed history," James said. "Now magic history sounds fascinating."

"Professor Lupin is having to merge them, like the astronomers are doing with the star charts," she replied. "Why, would you like to talk to him?"

"If you'll hang on the line while we go to commercial, I'll give you our email address. I'd love to talk to your professor sometime."

"I'll pass it on, but I won't promise anything," she replied.

* * *

Saturday, May 4, 2002:  
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 09:07 (GMT +2)

Elena came back from her run to see an official-looking envelope on her bunk. Taking a deep breath, she popped the seal with a fingernail, pulling out several sheets. She looked them over, then pumped her fist in the air, "YES! I got it! I am now one of the flight officers on the TGS Rostock!" She danced out into the common room, "I got my orders! I'm a plankowner! TGS Rostock!"

Melissa Jourdan asked, "Which posting?"

Elena glanced at her orders, "Flight officer in the tactical department."

"Then you can salute me, Morton," the dark-skinned former Royal Navy pilot said. "I'm assistant tac officer on the Rostock."

"Yes, ma'am!" Elena said, snapping off a salute.

_Date: 4 May, 2002  
To: Mom (home)  
CC: Dad (London), Morton, Arthur, Morton, William, Morton, Julia  
From: Morton, Elena  
Subject: Posting!_

_Mom,_

_I got my orders! I am not only assigned to the TGS Rostock as a flight officer, I'm a plankowner! This is so cool!_

_What does that mean? I'm part of the ship's first crew, and since the Rostock is such a small ship (only 70 meters long), that means I'm going to be doing a lot more than simply flying one of the two shuttles._

_My graduation and commissioning as an Ensign in the Guard is Saturday, 1 June. I hope you can make it, hopefully a day or two early. Corfu is a lovely island, I'd like to show you around (I'm going to miss the place, too!)._

_I've pasted in a bit about the Tigerfish class ships:_

The Tigerfish class corvettes (see illustration) are non-atmospheric spacecraft that incorporate designs for anti-piracy, anti-smuggling ship interdiction within the limits of the solar system. The first-flight ships (Gdansk, Rostock, St. Petersburg) are named after Baltic seaport cities. Their power sources are three 75 MW pebble-bed reactors powering gravitationally focused ship-mounted masers, defensive lasers and missiles.

With a crew of sixty, the Tigerfish class mounts two Piranha-class assault shuttles for boarding of suspect vessels. These shuttles are powered by a 30 MW pebble-bed reactor, which allows them to power their own grav and subspace drives, as well as defensive weaponry.

_Me again. The basic design is taken from the Kanal class ships, as you can see, but the shuttle bays are in the delta-shaped 'wings' of the ship, port and starboard, with missile tubes and energy weapons mounted out there. Yes, it does look like an arrowhead, no pun intended, but I'm told there are sound engineering reasons for doing it._

_Anyway, I've got a week or two of home leave after graduation before I need to report to the L5 ship docks. I don't know if you saw those when you visited, Dad, but that's where supplies are loaded, crew boarded, and so forth._

_I'm going to get some more simulator time in if I can, so I'll close. Hope to see you all in June!_

_Love,  
Elena_

* * *

Saturday, May 4, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table: 07:25 (GMT)

Mattie looked up as Julie and Bill joined their older brother Arthur, and they looked at her. Raising her eyebrow, she asked, "What's up, Mortons?"

"We need to get to Corfu early on June first," Julie said. "Elena's graduating."

"Cool," she replied. "I knew that there was a graduation, I have to be there. I didn't know Elena was graduating, though." She tented her fingers, "I don't know what the exam schedule is, though. Professor Snape hasn't told us, has Professor Potter or Professor Sprout?"

Julie looked at her brothers, "No. I was hoping we could, um, borrow the _Yates_ and Alfred..."

"Problem there," Mattie said, taking a sip of coffee. She held the cup in her hands as she explained, "Alfred is in Warsaw, being moved from the _Yates_ to the _McCoy_. Assuming he boots correctly (she knocked twice on the tabletop), there's still going to be a checkout period. Even if the _Yates_ is released for other service, can you fly her? I've only flown her myself for a very brief time, about an hour, and that was a couple hundred years ago, with Cassidy. I confess I'm not that good a pilot, which Alfred has yelled at me about."

"Damn," Bill said, and his sister said, "Language, Bill. No problem, we'll just have to do this the muggle way. I did a quick travel search, the best times from London to Corfu are eight hours, and from Columbus to London is twelve."

"Unless..." Arthur said, and he tapped his right hand. "Could you... No, forget I even mentioned it."

"Go by Ring?" Mattie said. "You know I don't like to use the bloody thing. Who would be going, and can we get out of exams early? It would be easier to have everyone leave from London," she mused.

"I'll email Mom, see if she can get to London a day or two early with Teela," Julie said, then slapped her head. "Duh. Why can't we floo?"

"Can you floo all the way from Columbus?" Arthur asked. "They might need to go to New York first," he added.

"So go to Kennedy, get on the floo to Gatwick," Roshawn said. "I'm surprised at you, Morton."

"It's early," Julie said. "Do we need to send an owl for the schedule and rates?"

"Pince should have that in the library," Shaundra said. "Figure some time to rest in between though, and don't forget your visas and whatnot."

"Don't forget, the Greeks are in the EU," Charlie said. "You'll need some Euros for walk-about dosh."

"That will work, thanks," Arthur said, and Julie said, "I'll send Mom an email."

* * *

Sunday, May 5, 2002:  
Paris, Elysee Palace, Presidential residence: 22:21 (GMT +1)

"(I'm going to bed,)" his wife said, getting up and leaving him sitting to watch the election returns. "(If you want to beat yourself over the head, you can. I'm tired.)".

"(I'll be up soon,)" he replied, looking at the legal pad of scribbled notes. "(I need to decide what to do.)".

She grunted and headed up the stairs. He moaned to himself and settled back, thinking, 'We'll need to call a constitutional convention about security and defense, why we only have the one carrier when the damned Brits have four, and the Arrowhead treaty will come up. Depending on the results in the outlying divisions, it may be my RPR party, or Jospin's Socialists that will need to form a new government. He's leading in the cities, but I've still got the countryside...' He yawned, and looked at his watch, 'A twenty-hour day. Tomorrow...' and he yawned again and switched off the television.

* * *

Monday, May 6, 2002:  
Paris, Elysee Palace, Presidential offices: 09:39 (GMT +1)

M. Chirac entered his offices in a foul mood. Not only had Le Monde reported on widespread street protests, he had now to form a new government coalition, which was not going to be easy. He grunted as his secretary chirped "Bonjour, M. le President!" (Good morning, Mr. President!). After he disappeared into his office, she muttered, "Idiot..."

* * *

Wednesday, May 8, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table: 07:49 (GMT)

Bill looked up from his eggs as the faculty appeared from their usual Wednesday meeting. The Headmistress stood before her place, rapping on her goblet. "Your attention please," and she waited as the morning noise died down. "Thank you. This weekend the muggle OFSTED inspection team arrives. One of each will be living in the dorms with you, you will assist them with spells and charms as necessary, you will NOT prank them." She looked around, "They will also have a password that will allow them access to each House and each dorm. Lastly, their schedule has been moved up, they should arrive Friday afternoon. Be pleasant and polite, no matter how difficult some of you might find that. Thank you," and she gave one more glare to her students before sitting.

"Joy," Arthur said from down the table.

* * *

Friday, May 10, 2002:  
Inverness airport, arrivals lobby: 13:09 (GMT)

"How do I look?" Harry asked quietly as he watched the arriving muggles.

"Nervous as I am?" Lara Croft replied, holding the small sign that read 'Hogwarts School'. "Comb your hair."

"I did," he replied. "Ginny even tried some Sleek-ezy's hair potion on it, it's impossible."

"I feel like a firstie waiting to be sorted," she admitted. "Oh, gawd, I think this is them..." she said as she saw people angling toward her. She put on a plastic smile, moving the sign under her arm as she said, "Hello! Are you from OFSTED?"

* * *

In the car park, Harry opened the small wooden box and asked, "You lot do know that this is a wizarding school?" There were nods or grunts as he continued, "Over the centuries, we've built up defenses against..." he paused as he searched for words.

"...discovery by hostile forces," Lara continued. "In order to bypass those, we're asking each of you to take one of these charms and wear it about your neck. It will let you see things as they are, instead of the illusion we've created."

"What are some of these?" a mousy-looking fellow asked, opening a pad and licking his pencil.

"Nothing fatal," Harry said. "For instance, you might suddenly remember leaving the teakettle on, and rush off to attend to it. You might look at the castle and think 'Oh, another ruined Scottish castle,' and go on your way. That type of thing, it's worked very well."

"I think it might be instructive for one or two NOT to use the charm," Mousy said.

"As long as you're not next to the driver," Lara said.

"Why are we stopping in a pasture?" Mousy asked as the van pulled to the side of Hogsmeade's High Street.

"Just to stretch," Lara said as she did so, and the other three inspectors eyed each other. "See anything interesting?"

"An old ruin in the distance," Mousy said. "By the by, did I let the cat out?"

"I'm sure it will be fine," one woman said from the front. "Where are we, by the by?"

"Manchester, I believe," Mousy said, and pulled out a map of Scotland. "Yes, definitely Manchester," he said, pointing at Edinburgh. "Shall we go?"

"Certainly," Lara said, putting the van in gear again. The inspector sitting next to Mousy pulled a charm from his pocket, offering it to Mousy, "Did you see what my daughter made for me? Would you like to try it on?"

"It's very nice..." he said. As he held it, "Where did the village come from?"

* * *

Friday, May 10, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin girls' dorm: 20:43 (GMT)

Mattie groaned as she entered her dorm, putting her bag down as she eyed the newcomer. Ami Bones was looking at her out of the corner of her eye as she changed out of her school uniform. Dropping the wards, she folded her robes, then put her uniform blazer on the hanger. Returning it to the wardrobe, she ignored the middle-aged woman as she undid her tie, and unzipped her skirt. She inspected it, then dropped that and her blouse in her 'laundry spot' at the foot of her bed.

"You know, dear," the woman said, breaking the awkward silence, "Your clothes will last longer if you take better care of them."

"That's the 'laundry spot'," she replied. "That's where the school elves pick up each person's laundry. They return it on your bed," she continued as she pulled her chair over in order to pull off her boots. Mattie pulled the knives from each, placing them next to the swords she had. Pulling her nightwear out, she replaced the wards.

"I was looking at those earlier," the inspector said. "I'm wondering why you have weapons so accessible." Ami Bones laughed at that as Mattie gazed at the muggle woman, then shrugged into her robe, "I'm going to grab a shower."

"Comes the ballistae," Mattie joked as Anne came in, the music from the small radio playing in the background. "I've got some stuff about your summer trip that Ellen gave me yesterday in London, go grab a shower and we'll talk about it."

"Yes, dear, you look all done in," Anne's mother said from the portrait, startling the muggle woman. Anne looked at the portrait, "Aye, mother," then asked, "Who doth this be?"

"I'm Mary, the inspector," she replied kindly. Anne eyed her, then the portrait, and her mother said, "Go, dear. We'll talk later."

* * *

Mary watched the girls as they settled in for the night. There were quite a few similarities with other boarding schools, but there were rather startling differences as well. The small radio was normal, but the power plug was stuck in a block of ... something, which was attached to the stone wall somehow. Entering the loo earlier, she had found plumbing facilities that looked to be from the 1900's, with a wide board across two sinks, a tea-maker and a coffeepot on it, both plugged into another block of something, which was also fixed to the stone. Lemon and a cream-pot sat on the shelf under the mirror, not resting in ice, but with a sparkling... something surrounding them. A sniff found them fresh. Another was the somewhat disconcerting large dog that lay on a bed, who seemed to read a textbook.

The floor was slate, covered with a large rag rug in the center. Each girl was supplied with a four-poster bed, wardrobe, desk and chair, with green and silver linens. The girls each brought a large chest, which sat at the foot of their beds. If she were to stand with her back to the entry, at 6 o'clock, the short corridor leading to the lav would have been between four and five, the short wall segment between five and six held hooks that had brooms hung for some reason. The first student's furniture (Anna Driver) was between three and four, then to the next (Ami Bones) between two and three o'clock. The space between two o'clock and one was Connie Koslowski's, a space had been created with stolen chairs from somewhere to create a small conversational 'nook' where the radio was. After that, her own furniture was shoe-horned in somehow between eleven and twelve. The three older girls had gotten a bit more space, although there was a large bookcase in the 'nook' which held reference books ranging from exotic botany to calculus and esoteric physics, all of which appeared well used.

She moved from her chair to sit in the 'nook', and regarded the three older girls. Miss Bundy, she of the talking portrait, had the space between the door at six and seven, the dog-owner, Miss Tonks, who seemed to be absent, between seven and eight, and Miss Wayne between eight and nine o'clock. It was surprisingly well organized, and while a bit cramped, each girl seemed to have plenty of room.

Where each showed her individuality were the wall art and pictures found on the desks. For instance, Miss Wayne had two posters, one a wizarding (ie: moving) one for a team called the 'Ballycastle Bats', the other one was apparently a home-town team. A light grey, with a black scalloped top, it resembled an extremely muscular man's chest in close-up. It had across the top 'Gotham Knights' in a yellow outline, with a yellow oval on the 'chest'. Centered in that oval was a black outline of an old fashioned helmeted knight. On her desk were two good-sized family pictures, in both the men were extremely muscular. One of them in particular, a large man wearing glasses, seemed to be very familiar, in a 'where have I seen him before?' way. A smaller photo was apparently of her beau, a teenage boy in a silver frame.

She looked around as the girls' attention shifted to the radio, apparently a favorite show was coming on. She settled back in the chair as MFR radio started with a 'Stump the Chump' broadcast. Connie, the young New York girl (going by the large Yankees poster over her desk), was saying, "You can't do World War Two, that's too easy."

"Excuse me?" Mary asked, and the portrait's man said, "They doth need to find something that happened on this date. Should they do so, and the others not surmise it, they win a prize." He called out, "The death of the first Earl of Argyll, Colin Campbell. 1493."

"That will work, it's obscure enough," the young Ami said, she added, "Who's got them on speed dial?" Miss Wayne looked up from her textbook, pulled out her mobile, told it, 'MFR Studios', and tossed it to Ami, who held it as she turned up the radio.

"You're on MFR, talk to me, and turn down the volume, please."

"Hi, James, I'm Ami and I'm borrowing the Queen's mobile," she said. "We've got a good one for you, it's really obscure. 1493, and a death."

"Oh, that is a good one," he replied. "By the by, if the Queen's listening..."

"She is," Mattie called.

"Excellent!" James replied. "Thank you for putting me in touch with your professor. He's a solid chap, we had lunch the other day. Now that I've dragged this out, I'm forced to say you've stumped the Chump, singular this week. What is it?"

"The death of Colin Campbell, the first Earl of Argyll," Ami said.

"I guess it was a bit forlorn to hope they would all be 1940, and Winnie," he said with a chuckle. "Who came up with that one?"

"One of the portraits," Ami replied. "Most of them are history buffs."

"The portraits are history buffs?" John said. "I have got to see that place!"

"We've actually got an OFSTED inspection going on," Ami said. "One of their inspectors is here in the dorm with us."

"Oh, my. You do have my sympathies," John said with a chuckle. "Without revealing secrets, might I speak to her?" Ami looked at Mattie, who shrugged.

Mary took the mobile, "Hello, John. I'm Mary, with OFSTED. I agree, this is an interesting place. There are six girls in this dorm with me, it looks like a normal teenage dorm room, except there are moving pictures and books floating in midair."

"Can you describe it?"

"Well, it's a stone room, there are no windows and the fixtures in the loo look like early 1900's. Everything slides, moves and turns, and there are fireplaces everywhere. Even the staircases move!"

"It does sound fascinating, but I'm overdue for a commercial. Please stay on the line, I need to get Ami's information for her prize." Mary passed the mobile back, and Ami said, "Hello, John?"

"So what's a 'ballistae'?" Mary asked, and the portrait 'tisked' at her, "For shame. Doth not thy know? 'Tis a large crossbow, thou fits a fire-tip and uses it to destroy the enemy that are besieging thee. I know thou, in this 'modern' era hath lost proper values, look at the sad decline in the Church."

"Father, I hath told thee," Anne said, emerging from her shower, "One must swallow the sweet and the sour. I do miss thee, but my road is much longer now."

"Aye," he replied, "I am simply concerned about thy trip this summer-time. I cannot ensure thy safety myself, 'tis frustrating."

"I've done a bit to help out," Miss Wayne said, putting down her book. She moved to where she could see both the portrait and Miss Bundy. "Anne, I've forwarded you some mail I received from the University, they've made arrangements, but I've made a few of my own."

"Oh my gawd, this should be cool," Connie said. "The Queen's a paranoid bitch. Do it, Mattie!" and she offered her own chair.

"All right, I don't trust the government," she started, taking the chair, and the portrait sniffed in approval. "They have arrangements with the city cops, the US Secret Service, and the FBI. I don't trust them."

"Rightly not, proceed," he said, and Mary listened, fascinated. "A few weeks ago, Anne, Narcissa drew some blood in the presence of your sister Kelly." She nodded, and Wayne continued, "You've been practicing 'popping' with the house elves, what about with someone else?"

"Adequate, although it is fatiguing," she said.

"Good. Here's what's going to happen. Tomorrow, you and Kelly are going to meet my brother Dick before he goes back to Gotham. You're going to set up a recognition pass-phrase with him, it will be different than the one he has with Kelly. You and he will be the only ones on this planet that know it." She flicked her wand, one of her family pictures sailed across the room. She pointed one fellow out to Anne, then stood and showed it to the portrait.

"Thank you, the men seem a sturdy group," he commented. "Please proceed."

"Very sturdy," she agreed with a smile. "You're going to fly out of Heathrow on El Al, which has the world's tightest airline security. It's a non-stop flight to Boston's Logan Airport, first class, you need to be there four hours early to clear security." Connie whistled, and she continued. "You will be escorted by both uniformed and plainclothes SO-1 officers who will be vouched for by Mr. Thompson. They will pick you both up at the office, drive you to Heathrow, and fly with you to Boston. Once there, the group will be met by MI-6 agents, who know the SO-1 blokes."

"Bloody hell," Anna Driver said. "That's not paranoid, that's bloody armour-plated!"

"I'm not finished yet," Wayne said with a grin. "When I protect someone, if I can't go myself, I call in markers. I couldn't get you diplomatic status, but you do have 'Special Interest' status from the Crown. Same thing with fighter cover, I struck out on that, but if you see someone flying next to the plane, don't worry about it." She stood, replacing the photo on her desk and sliding a couple of envelopes from her bag as Mary's jaw dropped.

"You're at Logan airport in Boston. The 'Special Interest' status should help with customs and passport. The 'Six' blokes should be authenticated by the SO-1 fellows that have been with you. My brother will have authenticated the local cops, he should also be with them." She leaned closer, "Should any of this not happen, should my brother be late, or absent, or give the wrong pass-phrase, or you just feel nervous, you pop out of there. Preferably with Karen, but by yourself if necessary. Don't worry about your luggage or anything else, just pop."

Anne nodded, and Mattie passed over a mobile phone. "This is set for the US network, my Aunt Barbara programmed it. If you need to pop by yourself, once you feel secure, give my mom a call. She's on speed dial, number one. We have a bit of influence," and she grinned. "We'll pick you up, determine what went wrong, and go from there. Hopefully, that will never happen, but you've met my mother," and Anne nodded.

"You've gone through airport security, once again, if for any reason, you feel threatened, you pop. Karen has a list of safehouse GPS locations that she can apparate you to."

"How many?" both Connie and Mary asked.

"More than one," Wayne replied. "Each one has decent security, good fields of fire, and automatic defenses. That's where the blood comes in. You won't be coming in through the vehicle trap, there's a particular point you apparate to. The outer layer is muggle security, DNA matching. Three people have access to that, my brother Dick, Karen, and you."

"That's the outer layer?" Connie asked.

Wayne nodded. "The inner layer is blood-warded to you and Karen. I called in another marker to set that up, Grand Mage Merlin would have a difficult time getting through."

"Oh. My. Gawd," Connie said. "That's armor-plated security."

"A bit more," Mattie said. "Please call my mom at least once a day to check in." She looked up at the portrait of Anne's parents, "I hope you don't mind, but she wants to be surrogate Mom for you. Please don't hesitate to call her," she said, and slid a larger envelope out of her bag. "These signs are every ten meters around the perimeter of each safehouse." Connie looked over a shoulder, there was a foreign script on the top, the bottom read:

**_WARNING: NO ENTRY  
Automated defense network  
NO TRESPASSING_**

Below in smaller type was: _Arrowhead R&D_

"What's the script on top?" Connie asked. It looked like a cross between Greek, Arabic and Cyrillic.

"'Tis Trade, the galactic language," Anne replied. Connie grabbed the sign and said, "This goes on the door!" As she was installing that, Mattie passed over two smaller brown envelopes, "The platinum card is for any work-related expenses. If you go over five million, please give Mr. MacAdam a call to let him know. The green card is a personal card on my account, I still owe you money, please don't hurt me too much," and she grinned.

"So, you've got someplace safe to go to if necessary, money to buy pizza with, and the email from the University with your normal, muggle housing arrangements." She leaned back, looking at the portrait of Anne's parents, "How'd I do?"

"How large are these safehouses?" her father asked.

"Average of ten acres," she replied. "I don't want to kill someone, so the lower-level defenses are non-lethal. They're not pleasant, but they won't kill you, assuming they can even find you. Once Anne and Karen leave, they can blow the house if necessary."

"Why are you setting this up?" Mary asked.

"Anne wanted to go to summer school at MIT," Connie said. "She's an asset, so the Queen made a few security arrangements."

"This should let you have a fun summer with quantum mechanics while I'm off across the galaxy," Mattie said, and threw a pillow at the dog. "Should be fun, ya mangy mutt." She 'woofed' in return.

* * *

Monday, May 13, 2002:  
HM Prison Wandsworth, Interrogation room #4: 08:43 (GMT)

Marie watched as the prisoner was walked in, his shackles secured to the metal chair. Her British counterpart looked at her, asking, "Ready?"

"Oui," she said, and he held the door for her as the prosecutor watched through the one-way glass. The terrorist looked up at her, nodded politely, "Madame," he said.

"M. Laval," she said calmly, and he smiled a bit, replying in French, "(You will forgive my not rising to shake hands, madame,)" and raised his chained wrists.

Oui, bien s?, (Yes, of course.) She opened her briefcase as the Englishman left the room, extracting papers, (Mr. Laval, I must tell you as your attorney that I recommend your cooperation. You have been recorded in the act of two murders, performed on live global television. One of those murders was a police officer. The only options for you are the length of the minimum term before they will even consider your release on license.) She rearranged some papers as he said, (I am a hero of France, of the French people! I will restore the glories of Empire! I have it from the government!)

(You are a deluded fool if you believe that, Mr. Laval. The people of France are repulsed by your cold-blooded murders, and the government claims to have no knowledge of you. The English government has, to ensure a fair trial, hired my firm as your defense counsel, unless,) she said coldly. (...you wish to either pay for your own defense, or represent yourself. Should you choose the second option, I remind you of the quaint, but accurate American phrase, 'You have a fool for a client.'.)

"Je ne pense pas que vous, (I do not believe you,)" he said.

"(As you will. Will you believe your own ears?)" She extracted a small cassette player and a pair of headphones from her briefcase, placing them on the table. She offered to help him, he shook his head and managed, asking, "(How do I know this is not an English trick?)"

(Firstly, because the radio station I was on was kind enough to record this in Paris. Those tapes have not left my possession. Secondly, we are not at war with England. Third, it would not be ethical as your attorney to lie to you, and last, because there is no need for the English to do so. They have what is known as an 'open and shut' case. They have both actus reus (guilty act) and mens rea (the intent to murder) on your part. The only reason you are not looking at the gallows is they abolished the death sentence in 1965.) She gazed at him levelly, then repacked her briefcase, snapped it shut, and stood. (The comments of the callers are interesting. Lastly, if you don't believe your own ears, read last evening's paper,) and dropped a copy of Le Monde in front of him. She pushed the 'Play' button. (Call for me when you are ready,) she said, and walked out of the room.

* * *

Wednesday, May 15, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff common room: 21:00 (GMT)

"I'm surprised you two aren't watching the show, it's a popular one," the resident Inspector said, joining Arthur and Charlie on a sofa. He shivered as the wolf's howl, part of the opening theme music sounded, and he said, "I'm glad it's fictional."

Charlie grinned, "This show, fictional? Vampires, werewolves, demons, hellmouths, just a product of our imaginations." He paused, "Right, mate... didn't we have a DADA class on vampires second year?"

"Think so," Arthur said. "I never liked the grimore hunts, myself, although they're interesting in an intellectual sense." He started to put his books together as the Inspector asked, "What's a grimore?"

"Spellbook," Charlie said. "As the characters throw pretend magic around on the telly, we do searches for the correct spells - some of them can get rather nasty, and our girlfriends have asked us not to be around when they're cast."

"How would they know, are they here?"

Charlie chuckled as he packed up himself, "Mate, two reasons. First, they're both Slytherin, they'll know. Secondly, this is a bloke's show, the guys in ALL the houses watch it. If they're seeing the Slytherin blokes casting these spells, they don't want us near those spells. That's some slightly dark magic, there." He hoisted his bookbag, "If you want to stay, I'll introduce you to a seventh-year, and ask him to cast a shield spell for you."

* * *

Thursday, May 16, 2002:  
Boston, Hynes convention center: 07:54 (GMT+5)

"Miss Bundy?"

Karen turned and saw an older bloke, mid forties, smiling gently at the madhouse. She was in charge of getting the exhibits set up for their first Yank show, she just hoped they had enough supplies. She smiled at him, "Yes, how may I help you?"

"Joe Ramsey, MIT Housing," he said, offering her his card and University ID. She examined the ID, then passed it back. He nodded, "I know you're busy, this is your first job fair in the States, and there's been a lot of interest in your companies. I'd like to show you the dorm you and your sister will be in this summer, give you a chance to meet some of the students. I would also confess to an urge to see your display, we do college tours ourselves, same type of thing." He looked past her as the spinning Arrowhead logo was hung in midair. "How does it do that?"

"Hmm?" She turned and looked, "Something with antigrav, I don't follow the mathematics of it. We just know how to set it up and take it down." She read his expression, then beckoned, "This is something everyone should have," and she stepped into the carpeted area, and watched as he followed. "Lunar gravity, Mr. Ramsey," she said with a smile. "Careful where you step."

"Oh..." and an odd expression crossed his face, "Have you been... up?" and he pointed to the ceiling.

"Yes," she said. "I've an ESA pin on my suit lapel." Karen smiled at him, "We dearly want to contract with the Yank schools, we've got many things yet to figure out. Let me show you one," and she led him to the small, briefcase sized generator. "This powers all our exhibits, we can build the generator, but we must import the Fuel," and showed him the small stoppered vial. "There are only three planets that make this," she explained. "They are the OPEC of the galaxy, they are immensely wealthy and powerful."

"I would think so," he said.

"Yet it sells for pence in the interstellar market, and powers planets, stations, starships. All anyone knows as to the manufacture of it is that it requires a black hole." Joe Ramsey looked at the small tube of what looked like light grey road salt. Karen continued, "We have a little over twenty-two hundred kilos of that in the system, Mr. Ramsey. We could plug a larger one of those in," and she gestured to the generator. "It would run your entire city, but what would happen if we ran out of Fuel?"

"And stockpiles only last for so long," he said, returning the tube to her. "We can take a quick run over now, do an extended lunch, or after, as you please."

"Let us go now, we can then back here."

"Certainly," he replied.

"Let me get my bag."

* * *

He pulled into a parking place across the street, and she said, "That's it?"

"Yep," he said, getting out. He walked over to feed the meter as she gazed at it, then shook herself, and opened the door. He offered to assist, and she accepted, as it was a rather low-slung car. Checking the traffic, they dashed across.

* * *

"Merritt Stewart, this is Ms. Bundy, she and her sister will be staying this summer." The older brunette smiled at the young blonde, "Ms. Bundy, Karen or Anne?"

"Karen," she clarified. "Anne is still in school for another few weeks. I'm over for the job fair."

"Don't let that get out," Merritt warned with a grin. "You'll find yourself besieged by resumes. Most people are in class, we have finals in a few weeks also. Some of our residents are staying for the summer, but most will be going back home. It's an older building, no central air."

"We're working on that," Joe Ramsey said with a raised hand.

"We thought you'd be a good fit with this floor," Ms. Stewart said. "Kalinda, this is Miss Bundy, she and her sister will be staying here over the summer."

"Call me Kat," the college student said, brushing her red hair back. "Welcome to Cambridge. Where's your sister?"

"Still in classes in Scotland, I'm afraid," Karen replied, and Kat's eyebrow rose. "You're one of the two Brits we're expecting," she said. "What are you doing on this side of the Pond?"

"We're taking classes this summer, I'm over here for..." she stopped, and Kat made a circular motion with her hand. "Here to collect for some tea that got waterlogged?" she said with a grin, and Merritt coughed into her hand.

Karen smiled, and passed over a card. "No, I'm here for the job fair, and to do a bit of recce, scout out the terrain," she admitted. "I'm taking business classes at City College in London, you see."

"Ah, so you're a business nerd, you're including penalties and interest on the tea," Kat added, and Karen exploded with a laugh. Kat waved a hand, "Everyone at this school is a nerd and proud of it, it just varies by type. We're engineers with a sense of humor, Management is 'Course 15', also known as 'Sloanies', Chem nerds, or 'Course 10', like myself tend to like to cook up fun things to eat and drink." She shifted on the couch, "We have steer roasts, we'll cook six steers over a barbecue pit for eighteen hours straight, then party." She waved her hand, "Every floor has a kitchen, because the dining halls only serve dinner, so I hope you two can cook."

"Oh, yes," Karen said, taking a seat, "That type of thing seems to be a house specialty at school."

"So, tell us about your sister, Anne," Ms. Stewart invited. "I know she's Physics, which is Course 8, and she's already got patents (which caused Kat to sit up), but what about her as a person?"

"She has patents, already?"

"Six at the Royal Patent Office, with three in peer review," Karen said, and Kat said, "Gaw... damn... and she's still in school?"

"What you might call high school," Karen said. "What's Anne like?" She sat back, then tented her fingers, "The best term might be 'medieval'," and looked at the others. "I will have to ask you to keep this in confidence." The others nodded, "Anne is a time traveler..."

"Whoa, hold on. You guys are working on time travel there across the Pond?"

"No." Karen raised her hand, "Anne was born in 1365, in our family estates in London. Girls then were taught to read, write, and do sums, which was normally all the education they were deemed to need. However, she was sent north, to Hogwarts in Scotland, one of a handful of female students there. Not only did this provide for her education, it kept her away from the remnants of the Black Death."

"I remember something about that," Kat said.

"Good. Also, in this point in British history, the country was not unified, that occurred in the 1700's, and there was quite a bit of brigandage. Because of this, Anne has been in combat." She regarded her future housemate, "I am aware you (she circled a finger), enjoy mock combats. If you invite Anne, make certain she is aware it is for sport. Do not attempt to prank or surprise her."

"You mentioned Hogwarts," Joe Ramsey said. "That's a wizarding school. You and Anne..."

"Are witches, yes," Karen said, drawing her wand and levitating Kat's book. "As I said, please keep this in confidence." She looked over at the housemother, "I will need to contact the local potions supplier, may I have the packages shipped here to your attention?" Merritt nodded.

"How does potions differ from chemistry?" Kat asked, trying to force her floating book down. Karen flicked her wand, canceling the hover charm as she replied, "Potions utilize the magical properties of both the ingredients and the brewer. To return to Anne, my sister, who I love dearly, and bearing in mind her medieval upbringing, she has adapted fairly well, however she does retain certain traits. She refuses to wear slacks, they are 'unmaidenly', and the school's uniform skirts at mid-thigh are 'shockingly immodest'. She will most likely be seen in a long skirt and what's described now as a 'peasant' style blouse. She also has a Shakespearean style of speech, with 'thou', 'prithee', and so forth. Living in London in the 14th century with her family, on Sundays she was used to going by Tyburn to watch the hangings before church, she considers the modern legal system far too liberal." Karen raised a hand, "Her father was a solicitor, and at the time the theft of more than three shillings was a hanging offense."

"Wow..." Kat said. Karen smiled, "My sister can be obsessive, I believe she was mis-sorted, but that's air out the lock. She will start a study project, and obsessively shut out the rest of the galaxy. She also has a habit of putting down a quill and then losing it. The best way to bring her out is to wave food under her nose, she is extremely fond of a buttered scone with egg on top, and a pizza with the top covered with mushrooms and pineapple is, to her, the finest invention of the twentieth century."

"Pranks," Kat asked. "We do have a few that will take her as a challenge."

"Her revenge will depend on her humiliation and any damage. Short-sheeting her bed will probably result in some form of transfiguration of the perpetrator's items, perhaps to chicken feathers. Dumping a bucket of water on her without damage, will result in the criminal having their clothes disintegrated, their skin coloured blue, and suspended upside down in midair. With damage would be..." she thought a minute, "Something like a tickling charm, and the person would be displayed in public." Karen smiled, "I love her, but she's not perfect. She needs to work on her sense of moderation. Best to declare her off limits, if she doesn't mind a prank, she'll say so, or initiate one."

"What would she do as a prank?"

"Perhaps an aqueous charm. It gives the illusion of being underwater, it doesn't harm things like computers, but you're still underwater."

"What is a tickling charm?" Kat asked, and Karen raised her eyebrow. "Just what it seems. Would you like to experience one?" Kat nodded, and Karen flicked her wand, "A light one."

"Oh, oh, BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" Kat shouted as she writhed on the couch. Karen flicked her wand again, and the girl panted, "Oh, that's a good one. It felt like little tiny fingers all over me."

"That was a very mild one, for only a few seconds. As I said, best to declare Anne off limits to pranksters. Now, she does enjoy cooking, especially over an open flame, so she'll enjoy the barbecue, and she does like to eat, the difficulty is tearing her away from her studies. She feels she has six hundred years of science she has to learn."

"What about her patents?"

"She has been able to take gal-tech, like subspace transceivers, and not only modify the hardware so that we can manufacture it, but also work out enough of the theory so that we can use it for other things," Karen replied. "That's what we're using in the system sensor net, sort of a cross between sonar and radar." Waving her hand above her, "The math is way above me."

"Calculus is a required course here," Merritt warned, and Karen nodded. "Anne won't have troubles with it, but myself? Helllp!"

"We're geeks and engineers," Kat said. "Our athletes are engineers, hell, our cheerleaders are engineers!"

* * *

Friday, May 17, 2002:  
Gotham, Spagano's Italian restaurant: 19:30 (GMT +5)

"Eddie, there you are!" Selina called, and Dick and Barbara turned to see Edward Nigma, very full of himself, working his way through the Grand Opening crowd toward them.

"Seven thirty on the dot," he said with a smile, "As I said, although I was a bit concerned about traffic. "You, my dear," he told Barbara with a grin, "look ready to pop."

"Ready to drop this kid any day now," she confirmed, then winced. "Sorry, a contraction."

"You sure you want to be here?" Dick asked his wife. She reached out and grabbed his tie as if to straighten it, but pulled him close instead, and he draped his arms over her shoulders. "I would have said something," she whispered to him. "We're trying to get these two together, y'know?"

"I wonder where Lois and Clark are?" Selina asked nobody in particular.

"Somewhere over the Atlantic, no doubt," Eddie replied, then said softly, "Really, 'Linna, it's not that difficult a puzzle. I mean, glasses as a disguise? That's pathetic." They both turned as Babs let out another small cry, and Eddie said, "My dear, if that's another contraction, that's within five minutes. I must insist on a hospital."

"But, the dinner, the grand opening..."

"He's right, dear," Dick said, "We need to get you to Gotham General. Eddie, will you?"

"Go." Eddie made shooing motions. "I will stay and inform the Kents, and arrange for take-out. Go and have your baby, my dear." He turned, "Selina, please save me a place?" She nodded, and he summoned the maitre d'. As he waited, he thought, '_They'll find out about Jervis later_.'

* * *

"Well, it is certainly about time," Edward snapped, glaring at Clark. "Was there a cat in a tree?" He gave the two of them a full glower, "Selina went ahead to Gotham General with Barbara and Richard. Her contractions have started, and I have arranged for a buffet in the waiting room."

"Err, it's my fault, actually," Lois said. "How far apart were they?"

"Under five minutes," he replied, then eyed her. "You're coming along too. Perhaps you can convince your husband to move things along."

"Their ambulance is just pulling in," Clark said softly, looking into the distance. Lois poked him, he looked at her, then remembered to say "Ow. Let's get a cab, shall we?"

"The cape is packed away," Edward said, then stepped to the curb and gave a sharp whistle, "TAXI!"

* * *

"Here she comes... gently, gently... one more push, now."

"That's what you said the last time," Babs gasped, and the obstetrician moved his hands, "Cut that, please. Wipes." He held the baby up, tiny ankles between the fingers of his right hand, and gave her a flick on the buttocks. She turned in his hand, _glared_ at him, and Dick said, "Uh, oh." He gave her another flick, and she crossed her arms, glared at her assailant again, then finally took a deep breath.

* * *

"One of the better ideas you've had, Nigma," Amy Rohrbach complemented him as she filled her plate with different kinds of pasta.

"I will not insult my palate during this momentous occasion with," he sneered, "...hospital food." He turned as Selina Kyle, still wearing a disposable surgical gown, entered the room, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to announce the official birth, at eleven fifty nine and thirteen seconds, of Mary Elizabeth Grayson." People started to applaud, and she raised her hand, adding, "Eighteen inches, eight pounds, 13 ounces."

* * *

Saturday, May 18, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin dorms: 05:03 (GMT)

"'Lo?" There was a fumbling noise, then a 'Lumos', and she said, "What! At what time? Oh, my. She's channeling... Oh, that's funny. Yeah, thanks, Mom. Give my love to everyone. Right, bye!"

"What's up, mate?" Sprink said muzzily from her bed. Mattie dashed over, pulled her out of bed to do an impromptu dance. "I'm an Auntie! Aunt Mattie! Babs had her kid, a girl, just before midnight."

"Congratulations," Anne's portrait-father said. "Hath you decided on a christening gift?"

"No, not yet." She raised her voice, "Cindy?"

There was a slight delay, then the house elf popped into view, yawning, "Yes, Mistress Wayne?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, but my Aunt Barbara had her daughter a few minutes ago. Can you get the cigars ready for breakfast?"

The house elf was ecstatic, "Of course, Mistress! What is her name?"

"Mary Elizabeth Grayson, eight pounds 13 ounces, eighteen inches, this morning in Gotham City, so that's May 17, eleven fifty nine p.m." Mattie gave another squeal, "I'm an Auntie!"

"It will be done, mistress!" and Cindy popped out.

* * *

Saturday, May 18, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 07:30 (GMT)

Mattie stood, tapping her knife on her goblet, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make." She eyed the assembled students, "Ladies and Gentlemen, witches and wizards, yesterday evening in Gotham City, shortly before midnight May 17th, I became an Aunt when my sister-in-law Barbara gave birth." Some people started to applaud, and she held up her hand, "The infant is healthy, Mary Elizabeth Grayson checked in at eight pounds, 13 ounces, and eighteen inches long." She nodded, and boxes started working their way down each table, "As is traditional, I am passing out cigars, these are hand rolled Cuban Gran Corona cigars, so you'll need to smuggle them into the US." There was a laugh at that.

"What was the exact birth time?" Professor Vector asked, accepting a cigar.

"Eleven fifty nine and thirteen seconds," Mattie replied. "Do you need the exact latitude and longitude of the room?" The professor nodded, and she replied, "I'll have to get that for you."

* * *

Saturday, May 18, 2002:  
London, Isle of Dogs, Guard Operations: 09:28 (GMT)

"Thank you all for coming, especially on a Saturday," Mattie said, standing as the group made its way into the conference room. She waited until everyone had a seat, and was supplied with coffee or tea, then distributed a handout. "This is a secure document, please read and sign the cover sheet and return it to me. I'd like to introduce everyone." She indicated the short, older fellow, "Mr. Jamie Burnet, who is the..."

"...cousin", he supplied,

"Thank you," she said with a smile, "Cousin to my own CFO, who will be playing a part when we get to Windfall. He's on loan to us from Gringotts' Bank. The young man next to him is Hauptmann Gruber, who commands the McCoy's infantry detachment, next to him is," she indicated an older, tanned and somewhat weatherbeaten man, "Captain Senyavin, commanding the McCoy herself. Sir, how is the transfer of Alfred going?"

"Very well," he said, and put his now-familiar remote on the table. His holographic head appeared, he turned, and said, "Good day, everyone. It is a pleasure to see you all again."

"The same," Mattie said, then continued on the opposite side of the table, "On my right, my intended Arthur Morton, Charlie Adams and Sprink Tonks, best mates who are here for Greywolf." She tapped the bound handout, "Slides and other handouts are on the CD in the back, as this contains confidential information regarding the McCoy and her deployment, please sign the NDA and return it to me." Sprink pulled her a biro from her hair, signed the form and passed it down, along with the biro.

* * *

Saturday, May 18, 2002:  
London, Isle of Dogs, Guard Intelligence Operations: 09:34:25 (GMT)

The email 'pinged', the operations officer waited for the automatic decryption, then opened the message. He studied it for a minute, then grunted, "CC'd to Miss Wayne. The Scythe has landed, they've had some problems." He hit 'Print', and put the message into an envelope, writing on it. Ringing for a courier, he passed it over, "Miss Wayne is in Conference room three on the sixth floor."

* * *

Saturday, May 18, 2002:  
London, Isle of Dogs, Guard Operations: 09:37 (GMT)

"Our rough timeline," Mattie said, "Is to leave the Terran system, go to..." There was a knock on the door, a voice asked, "Miss Wayne? Operations Courier." Mattie got up and opened the door, the young man asked, "Miss Wayne? Message to you from Intelligence Ops."

"Thank you," she said, checking her watch, then signed for the message, noting the time. The courier left, and she slit the envelope, walking back to her seat as she studied the message. She took some A4 from the laser printer in the room, tapping the message with her wand to copy it. She passed copies to the Captain, adding, "Hauptmann Gruber, also, please." She took her seat, passing a copy to Arthur face down. The others waited as they read the message, Mattie swung her chair back and forth as she thought. She looked up as Herr Gruber asked, "Pardon, Fraulein Wayne, but is Herr Morton authorized to read that?"

"He's been cleared for that," she replied. "I don't like the attempted mutiny..." the others sat up, and she raised her hand, "Apparently the ship's Chief Engineer went to a revival meeting and was 'saved' (she finger-quoted)." She swiveled about, "He was apparently the inside man on an attempted pirate attack, when the Captain blew the three pirate ships away, he tried a hijacking. Both the First and the Comm officer report that the engineer, Markos by name, beat the Captain into a coma, re-collared the senior staff as slaves, and was going to sell not only Windfall's location, but Earth's as well, so he could donate it to the preacher."

"One hell of a preacher," Arthur said. He glanced through the printout, "Apparently his slave turned on him, he disgusted her, she asked the Captain to buy her, and he agreed."

"That brings up a point, Miss Wayne. While we can staff most other positions with experienced naval or merchant crews, the FTL drives, life support, and medical technology is a critical weakness," Captain Senyavin said. "That means, at least for Intelligence crews like ourselves and," he tapped the printout, "the Scythe, buying and using slaves in those positions."

"What about the Spacer's Guild?" Mattie objected. "I'm sure we could pick up the crew we need without having to buy them."

"Captain, I don't believe I'm hearing this," Arthur said.

The Captain turned the page, looking for the correct line to quote, "The First Officer says in her report... 'unfortunately, as we are covered as a slave ship, we anticipate having to add an enslaved chief engineer to our roster. While we have several slaves we have purchased per special order, we may be able to steal one or two for this duty. These slaves will of course be offered their freedom and a Guild-standard contract upon our return to Eunomia. This will be by way of Eridani, as we need to drop off the Spider-slaves there, and install a Sisal unit in our 'embassy' there.'"

"If you're buying slaves, you're still enriching the bastards," Arthur said bitterly.

"Unfortunately true," Captain Senyavin said. He made a throw-away gesture, "Mr. Morton, I agree the slavers are bastards, they are scum. However, they have a resource that we need, that knowledge. Until we can get a handle ourselves on the theory, the manufacture of this technology, how to troubleshoot problems, we do not have much of a choice." He leaned back in his chair, "This is reality. If my ship breaks down in the middle of space, I need to have someone that can get us going again. There is no handy tow truck, we are on our own. My engineer needs to be able to repair or fabricate the correct part to accomplish this immediately. I can hire, or buy, the expertise I need."

"I would prefer the 'hire' option," Arthur said.

"As would we all, Mr. Morton. However, I can foresee two options where we would buy a slave." He raised a hand, and Arthur settled back, "One, there is no suitable crew available at the Guildhall. Until we can get an idea of the labor market, this must remain an option, to go to the slaver's and buy the talent we need. If the Guildhall is anything like a merchant seaman's hiring hall, I do not anticipate a problem." Arthur nodded, "Second option. The slave is titled to the ship, and thus comes with it when we purchase the ship." He held up a hand again, "The slave would have intimate, thorough knowledge of the ship and machinery, as opposed to a new crew having to learn the quirks of a machine. I am certain you can see that would be an advantage, especially with used equipment."

"And you'd keep her as a slave," Arthur asked. "Because if you freed her, she quit and go home and you'd be out ten kilos. Right?"

"You are taking an extremist position, Mr. Morton," the Captain said. "No, if the slave came with the ship, I would offer them their freedom and a Guild standard contract upon our return to Eunomia. I think this would be an acceptable compromise, I acquire the knowledge I need, the slave gains their freedom, a better life and a Guild contract. However, I must remind you that is what happened with the engineer here, Markos. The two slots I must depend on are engineering and medical, we can always fill a small hold with combat rations if necessary. This is why I can certainly understand the practice of keeping those crew as slave."

"The security of the ship is our problem, Herr Morton," the Hauptmann said. "I sincerely doubt you have sailed in areas of Earth that are still infested with pirates, the Captain and I have. These are not like the movie pirates, with a cutlass and eye patch. These Terran pirates will try to kill you, the space pirates, as you can read in the report, will try to capture your ship. They want to sell you off as slaves, Mr. Morton, and they will do anything they can to do so." He tapped the report in front of him, "We do not know how they got to Herr Markos, but they were persuasive enough to get him to attempt a hijacking of his ship. We thus have to take this into account for our security measures. You may not like it, Herr Morton, but this is the situation. If you do not like it, do not come."

"Arthur," Mattie said sharply. "Calm down, please. Security is a legitimate concern, and especially when a crew member is turned like this." She swiveled, "Captain, I recognize that you and the Hauptmann share a responsibility for the safety of ship and crew. However, purchasing slaves and keeping them in that condition is a last option."

"We are not sugar-coating things to make them more politically acceptable," the Captain said. "The last time I sailed through the Straits of Malacca, I had armed guards with AKM's on the ship, and we could hear rifle fire from other ships, and see the muzzle flashes." He leaned forward, "Your morals do you credit, but if keeping someone in a collar keeps the ship and crew safe, then I will do so. That does not mean I abuse them, though. Nor does it mean I will enjoy it. However, those of us who get our hands dirty must often do things that the residents of the ivory tower do not like."

"What about the rescued slaves, the training programs?" Arthur shot back.

"The training programs have not yet produced the level of expertise that we require," the Captain said. "That will take time. However, in the interim, when I am staffing my ship, in order to get that level of expertise, I can either hire it, or buy it. If I can hire a Terran, so much the better. If I can hire someone from a Guildhall, that is acceptable, indeed that is preferable, because it will increase the training levels of my other staff. However, if I have no other option, Mr. Morton, I will buy a slave for that position, and once I am satisfied as to their competence, I will arrange for their manumission and offer them a Guild contract."

"And what do I say to the girl in the mirror, to my family, at the end of the day?" Mattie asked. "You know my feelings on slaves."

"The entire planet knows, Fraulein," the Hauptmann said. "Do you look that girl in the mirror in the eye, and re-assure her that your ethics and morals are intact, that you have not lined a slaver's pocket? That you, yourself are not a slave owner, even for a brief time? Or do you look the Captain and myself in the eye, knowing that you are sending us out to risk our lives, and those of our crews with inadequate support? Support that you could have acquired for a few thousand euros?"

"You might not need that slave," Arthur said.

"Ja," the Hauptmann said. "In an infantry mission, I might not need my mortar squad. I hope I do not, but I have them available. It is not your decision, Herr Morton. It is Fraulein Wayne's."

Arthur opened his mouth, and Mattie said, "Mr. Morton, if you please." He looked at her, and she said, "Captain, for the sake of argument, we shall assume you need a Chief Engineer. What is your evaluation process for either hiring or purchase of that crew?"

"I would check their Guild ratings first," he replied. "Engineering Second or better. I would arrange a small test of their abilities, and offer them a provisional contract for, say, thirty days. If they do not prove suitable at the end of that thirty days, they may have personality conflicts or for other reasons, I would drop a free crew at a good size port, so they may have a good chance of finding another berth. If they were a slave, if at all possible, I would manumit them before dropping them. They would of course be paid Guild rates for that time."

"If at all possible?" Arthur asked.

"It may not be possible to free them, if they are wearing a judicial collar, or the local legal situation for some reason made it difficult," the Captain said. "Naturally, this would be on a case-by-case basis, but in that situation, I might move them down the ladder a bit, and upon our return to Eunomia I would declare them 'surplus to ship's need', which would allow them to petition the court to set aside their conviction. They can then be freed and proceed on with their lives."

"I see," Mattie said. "Thank you. While I can understand the desire to procure a slave both for a security standpoint, and for the chance to better their lives, I can also see the desire not to line the pockets of scum. The benefit of helping someone versus the drawback of enriching scum." She sighed, "Captain, I thank you." She turned and said, "Mr. Morton, I would suggest you put that question to a few slaves when we reach Eunomia. Which is preferable, to pay to help someone, or to ignore that person so you don't enrich their exploiter? However, I believe you owe the Captain an apology for trying to dictate his actions."

The room was silent, until Arthur said, "My apologies, gentlemen. I overstepped myself."

The Captain nodded, "Accepted, Mr. Morton. I can understand your feelings, I will give you my word, though, that buying a slave would be my last option. I would also prefer to hire someone from the Guildhall, and if the ship comes with an engineering slave, then I will consider myself fortunate that I can give them a better life. Is that more palatable?"

"Yes, it is, sir. Thank you." Arthur cleared his throat, "Shall we continue the meeting?"

The Captain picked up his copy to continue quoting, "'We do anticipate some problems, as myself, Second Officer Diijon, and Third Officer J'lan were all re-collared slave. Unfortunately, our slaver device was damaged beyond repair in the fight between Comm Officer Frank MacDonald (Sprink started), and the former Chief Engineer, when his sidearm went off.'" The Captain cleared his throat, drinking some water, "'I would like to call attention to the actions of slave 72269, Pamela, who is owned by the former Engineer, Markos. While remaining technically obedient to her owner, she was so disgusted by his actions that she aided and abetted Mr. MacDonald in gaining his freedom, and in later services to the ship. While I admit to having personal animosity toward her, I must admire her courage.'" He paged down, "On page five, Mr. MacDonald in his report proposes that if legally possible, she be offered a Guild contract for the _Scythe_, she is an experienced spacer, which we do need."

Mattie was making notes on her copy. "Can you think of any additional personnel we need? Ms. Woosan, the First, added a list of the special-order slaves they..." her mouth twisted, "...bought. She also asked for some power equipment, like a small bulldozer and such, they're trying to get the River colony..."

"Why don't we start the briefing over," Charlie said. "Then we'll all be up to speed."

"Yes, you're right. I'm sorry," Mattie said. Leaning forward, she started the holo projector in the middle of the table. "As I was saying, we'll start in the Epsilon Eridani system, which is a little over ten light years. This flight itself should take no more than an hour or two, what does take time is working in and out of the system." She touched the control, and the small holo display changed, "Figure roughly half a day to work in through approach control, docking, the Portmaster, and so forth." She glanced at the Captain, "Everyone has their hand out, but most of them are 'honest politicians', you grease their palm and they will help you, and smooth the way."

"How much is the typical bite?" he asked.

"Usually about ten percent. He'll charge you for umbilical connections per day, I simply rounded up. We'll be there for a long weekend, to let everyone get their feet wet on another planet, so we might pay for a full fourth day, and only be there three and a half. Cash, which there means grams of tungsten. Don't be offended if he checks the metal content of the coins with a scanner."

She changed the display, "Weapons. Big and ugly, and if you look like a gunfighter out of the Western movies, that's fine. The basic idea is: 'An armed society is a polite society.' I don't anticipate our going outside the Port area. They try to keep the 'outsiders' like us, the spacers, in Port, to contain us." She looked down the table at Arthur, Charlie and Sprink, "That's why you've been training with those combat shotguns. Think bar brawl instead of a shootout on Main street. That's also why everyone has a partner, to watch their backs."

Mattie turned to Charlie and Sprink. "One of the things we need to look into is a larger freighter. The highest cargo capacity we've got is about five thousand tons, and it's not atmosphere capable. I've talked to Amy about this, Arrowhead will finance a mortgage to Greywolf for a larger freighter and the associated cargo shuttles." She turned to Captain Senyavin, "Will you have some staff for this ship?"

The Russian thought for a moment, "Da, some. We will be short-handed, especially with pilots for the shuttles."

"Let me help a bit," Miss Wayne said with a grin. "One of the new Tigerfish-class ships had to return to dock, so her deployment is delayed. I can offer you some middies, if you're willing to serve as their snotty cruise."

"'Snotty cruise'?" Sprink asked, and the Captain chuckled. "Traditional term. Their first deployment, their first training cruise. They are very junior officers who are there to learn." He nodded, "That will certainly help. However, what concerns me is the engineering, we still do not have a firm grasp of the FTL drives." He swiveled in his seat, "I know that slaves upset you, but if the required personnel are not available for hire, we will need to buy them for this function."

Miss Wayne's mouth twisted like she had just bitten into something sour. "Under the Intelligence Letter, and as long as they are freed within thirty days and offered a contract position."

"Of course, you have my word, Miss Wayne," and she nodded at that. "I am assuming we are not buying new-build?" She nodded, "In that case, I would suggest we purchase slaves to supplement our own knowledge..." He held up his hand, "Hear me out. We are purchasing used equipment. We don't know what hidden faults there are, we do not have the institutional experience. Buying those experienced slaves, while more expensive, buys us that experience, especially in such a short time-frame. It is the same thing as your buying an extremely expensive automobile off the showroom floor. You would need to hire a mechanic to maintain it."

"As we may be out more than thirty days, I have given my word that these persons will be offered their freedom, and a contract for employment, upon our return to Eunomia." He swiveled a bit in his chair, "The most common sized break-bulk freighter on the world's oceans is what is known as 'handy-sized', up to 35,000 tons of cargo. That should be adequate for the equipment Herr Gruber here needs to build his castle."

"Barbican, Herr Captain," he replied with a grin. "A fortified gatehouse, if all we're facing is local farmers, they may have the equivalent of hunting rifles, or they may have regressed to the bow and arrow. We've tested gal-tech side arms, we will have grenade launchers and mortars. Our civil engineers can make reinforced concrete locally, which should do just fine for what they have."

"Good, I was wondering about repairs to the causeway and such," Mattie said. "Regarding the ships, I need to inform you of some classified equipment. It is rated as 'Terran wizard only' security, and this information doesn't leave this room," the others nodded. "We are installing in our ships, and in our ground installations, what are called 'Sisal' transceivers." Sprink sucked in a breath, Charlie raised his eyebrows, and Arthur said, "You sure about this?"

"This isn't circuit diagrams, but they need to know what's installed in their ships," she replied. Turning in her chair, she addressed the Captain, "Some of the classified cargo you'll load at Eunomia are four FTL transceivers. We'll put in another one with a bridge console for the new ship, you should have a witch or wizard on staff covered as a comm officer."

"Two French girls, my understanding was that we had FTL radios," the Captain said.

"You've got subspace radios," she clarified. "That's only good to about 23 AU, so it's in-system use. That's what we're using for the system buoys, video conferencing to Eunomia, and so forth. You've also got normal space radios for talking to comm centers, other ships, and so forth. Orbital distances, essentially, which is the same equipment every other starship and shuttle have." He nodded with the Hauptmann, and she continued, "We are the only ones that have this, which lets you communicate with Earth in close to real-time. This is..." she paused a minute, "... think of an interstellar modem. People came up with this a few hundred years ago, but the drive fields disrupt the circuit."

"Except we've got a way around that," Charlie said.

Mattie nodded, and said, "A limited way. In short, it uses magic to create a stable field. That's why a witch or wizard installs and runs it, that's why you'll have a witch as one of the new ship's comm officers."

Sprink said, "You may not think this is great shakes, but that means you can send email across interstellar distances. The normal thing for people is to post a letter, which is carried by ship, and can take days or weeks to get there."

"That would give an enormous market advantage in trade," Mr. Burnet said. "What's the data rate?"

"About like a 300 baud modem at the moment," Mattie replied. "That's why we're using it for email, text messages. We've got people working on that, we've bought the technology..." She shook herself. "In any case, now you know about it. Once the new ship is bought, we'll transfer the unit over and install it."

She leaned forward to change the display again, "Changing the subject. Slaves. You're going to see them, primarily female, doing everything from driving buses to waiting tables. An average slave's price is roughly a kilo of tungsten, which is about five thousand pounds sterling. Obviously higher or lower, depending on specifics. A good percentage are bred slaves from companies like WorkForce, and are sterile." She took a deep breath, and Arthur reached over to rub her shoulder as she continued, "You may 'rent' a slave, should you need to ... satisfy a need, so to say. However, as the slave is essentially a disposable person, we don't know who else might have rented her for that purpose."

The Captain coughed, "Like the 'joy girls' in Bangkok. Think communicable disease, and that we will probably not have a treatment." He indicated the Hauptmann, "We have already discussed this, Miss Wayne. Given the situation, and for myself, it would be too much like," he cleared his throat, "bedding one of my daughters or granddaughters."

"For myself, my sister," the Hauptmann said. "While having a slave girl wait tables is one thing, to take one to bed is..." and he shook his head.

"I will remind people that our general Letter of Marque does not permit our purchase or ownership of slaves, and the Intelligence Letter only under very specific circumstances." She looked around the table, "You have copies of both in your packets. I will personally..." she took another deep breath, "...remind any of our personnel of that as needed," Mattie said, and changed the display again. "The Port layout is concentric, with the major markets here, in the center..."

"Eridani departure," Mattie continued. "You'll talk to Departure control, you'll tell them you're headed for another port, like Tosul. They will assign a buoy to you, which will be where ships joining a convoy assemble." She tented her fingers, "The convoys never actually stop, they just slow down a bit, and ships speed up to join them. This is why you set up a ship's account with Lantern Bank, they will give you an encrypted chip for your comm system. You pay to join the convoy, which covers the costs the warships assume in protecting it. That's why I suggested at least thirty kilos in the account, that will also cover things like chart downloads, any legal fees, and so forth. When we drop out of the convoy, we call the warship we're assigned to, their officer will refund any pro-rated fees to us."

She swiveled in her chair, "The likeliest time for a pirate to intercept us is after we've left the convoy, and before we've entered a controlled system, which is what happened to the _Scythe_. Aside from that, some of our ships have run into pirates, we've been lucky so far." She looked at the Hauptmann, "That's why your troops have grenade launchers and shotguns. Pirates will try to capture us alive, those will stain and scratch the paint, but won't damage equipment. The same thing for when our forces try a boarding action, that's why everyone has some form of body armor." She changed the display again, "This point is our riskiest. The convoy's rough course, as you can see, is the thick yellow line at the bottom. The Orion nebula, which is what we need to enter, is a rather diffuse, roughly spherical volume about twenty to thirty light years across." She moved to the next display, "Our rough course, which has to be done fairly slowly, is from the thick line at the bottom to Beneece Secundus, Windfall's star. In order to get there, we have to loop over toward five o'clock, then up to four, three, then twelve, and finally down toward ten o'clock and Secundus. In open space on a straight line course, we could do that in five or six hours. Here," and she gestured at the yellow 'spaghetti' line of the course, "We're looking at maybe a day."

"System astrography," and the display changed again. "It's technically a binary system. Windfall orbits the primary, a G5 star, a little smaller and more orange than the sun. This should be a wealthy system, they've got two asteroid belts, a thinner outer one, about like ours, and an enormous inner belt, reaching from about .9 AU to about 7 AU. The planet orbits about .8 AU."

She changed the display, "We don't have too much information on the secondary system. The star is a M2 red dwarf star with three planets, none of them habitable. The star in this case did what Jupiter did in ours, to feed comets to the inner planets, of the primary system, where they crash and hydrate the biosphere. The M2 is on a fairly long orbit, we've got a couple thousand years before it comes close and we have to worry about it."

The display changed again, "Back to Windfall. You'll see there's a roughly hexagonal main continent. The primary river the others empty into we've named the Amazon, the others from east to west are the Bug, the Congo, the Danube, where the original primary colony was, and finally the Elbe." She touched the controls, and the display zoomed in, "As you can see, the original Danube colony was well placed, they put in roads and a landing field, a dam for electric power and irrigation of their fields, they had manufacturing, what looks like traces of mines in the surrounding hills. Then the plague hit, we think it's died out by now, it's been about sixty or seventy years."

The Captain raised his hand, "You think, Miss Wayne? You're not certain?"

"Not until someone gets there," she replied. "The _Scythe_ may be the first. Our agent reports using their ship's Healers haven't detected it on the main island colony, but we'll be checking the Danube colony, where it originated. That's why you've got an up-staffed medical department, they'll be the first boots on the ground. Since this disease was also gender-based, some of those doctors will be male, some female." She swiveled back and forth in her chair, "This was a nasty disease, the women were carriers, the men were the primary victims. That's why I would suggest that the first shuttles to hit dirt would have a female crew, but that's a decision for the medical department."

"What else do we know?" the Hauptmann asked.

"The islanders sent their last-but-one shuttle to take a look at the main colony, the mainlanders were reported as 'feral' and took out the crew, we don't know what happened to the shuttle. It could still be there, this was about ten or fifteen years after the plague hit and the mainlanders could have killed off the crew, we just don't know. We'll try to scan for it on our orbital insertion, but any detachment we send to find out will be armed."

A new slide came up, "As you saw, the primary colony was up one of the secondary rivers. They set up a small port on an island at the mouth of the major river, which we're calling the Amazon. Like Earth's, this river drains the continent, so it's big, deep and powerful. The river port is a small side island near the western bank, they had a water power arrangement, once again going by orbital scan, the equipment seems to be functional, but it was hit by a hurricane some time in the past, and it doesn't look like repairs were done. There are some blown-in roofs and other damage that looks weathered."

The display changed back to an overview of the planet, as she said, "Most of the ice caps have melted, the planet has some truly spectacular oceans, what you're seeing are the tops of volcanic mountains." The planet rotated over the holo projector, "The only asteroid mining we've seen them do, which has been confirmed, is apparently on one large nickel-iron asteroid, which funnels through their single space station." She swung her chair back and forth, "Tech level is mixed. Video is early color TV, radio is late 40's vacuum tube. The island uses a six legged ox-like beast called a shonnen, about the size of a rhino, windmills power ceramic generators, the two or three smiths though use arc furnaces. For most of the population, think dirt or gravel roads, sailboats and early alcohol engines, roughly late 1700's to mid 1800's tech level. The locals know better tech exists, but it requires metals. The island is metal poor, their economy is based on iron," and the lieutenant leaned forward in shock.

Mattie leaned down, fishing in her bag, and tossed a few disks on the table. Arthur picked one up, and said, "It looks like a poker chip."

Mr. Burnet examined one, "We could duplicate these by the truckload, which would destroy their economy."

Nodding, Mattie said, "That possibility has been considered, and replicator patterns have been installed." She gestured to the ceramic coin, "That is partially why you're here. The sandurs," she indicated the coins, "Are issued by the Council of Elders, the same group that took power under an emergency decree and still have it." She tented her fingers, "The people, who apparently named their coins after their lost homeworld, have one orbital shuttle, which must be worn out as it's been in continuous use for sixty or seventy years. The station and the miners trade iron to the Council of Elders in exchange for food and air."

"No overhauls? No maintenance?" the Captain was horrified. "They should be dead by now!"

"The last maintenance is what we've done," Mattie replied. "Even then, the Elders tried to cheat us. There are five of them, the Grand Councilor, the oldest of them is named Daala," and she leaned forward to change the display again. "For a Terran, he'd be in his 90's, he runs the Ministry of Finance, and runs the economy, and the government, as a plutocracy. In order for us to have access to those databases, and improve the standard of living of our people and the native Sandur, we're going to have to do some ... corrections to the Council."

"So we have a plan," Captain Senyavin said.

"We do," Mattie replied. "First of all, I have no intention of back-seat driving. What I'm doing is giving a general outline, you're the specialists." Both the Captain and the Hauptmann relaxed a bit at that, as she continued, "First, we're going to drop a comm sat in synchronous orbit. This way, we'll have secure communications. Secondly, while we," she waved her finger at Mr. Burnet and her friends, "are playing with politics and economics, you're going to find out what happened to the island port and the mainland colony. We will need a few troops, just for intimidation in High Town when dealing with the Council."

"I can spare a squad or two," the Hauptmann said, and Miss Wayne nodded.

"Good, as I think the Captain here would be best served in your support." She shifted, "Captain, the island we're interested in is connected to the mainland by what looks like a stone or brick causeway, which is where they put their hydro power station. There are three stone or concrete landing pads on the south side of the island, but they hang over the river, I don't know if you want to trust them after seventy years without maintenance."

The Captain shook his head, as she continued, "There are two other possible landing sites, both without shore utilities. Just downstream of the causeway, there's a public area that's somewhat triangular, it does have a fountain in the middle, the _Scythe_ reports landing to the south of the fountain, so it may be tricky landing there. That's about ten by a hundred twenty meters, or you could land on the riverbank across the causeway. The whole island is about ten city blocks, with a port downstream of the causeway. The estimated population would have been about 1500 or so."

"How deep is the river?" the Captain asked.

"Sensors have the channel we're interested in about five to ten meters deep, there's a weir upstream to maintain the water level for the power equipment. The main river when we measured it was about sixty deep and about three klicks wide. The causeway is about three hundred meters long, it looks like they installed the generating equipment there, but only used the farther fifty meters."

"Probably to keep the currents down, it's probably silted up over sixty or seventy years," the Captain said. "Dive gear would be useful."

"Ja, we have a few fellows that are rated divers," the Hauptmann said.

"We have them too," Senyavin said, and turned to Mattie, "Miss Wayne, I would suggest adding a few civil engineering specialists, they can get the equipment running while the infantry scouts the area."

"If we're going to secure that causeway against possibly feral locals," the Hauptmann said, "We're going to need to put in passive defenses on the mainland side." He leaned forward, manipulating the image, "It looks like that causeway is two or three meters wide. We'll need to widen and strengthen it if we want to use that island as any sort of base." He chuckled, "I never thought I'd be building medieval fortifications."

* * *

Saturday, May 18, 2002:  
Gotham City, Gotham Post, local section

Page B-1 (below the fold):

Jervis Tetch, also known as the Mad Hatter, was found shot to death this morning in a hideout in Caroltown. Tetch, known as much for his obsession with 'Alice in Wonderland' as his mind-control headgear, was found shot in the left temple with a Colt .45 caliber automatic. A suicide note was found, matched to an old manual typewriter. Police are currently treating the death as a suicide.

Page B-13  
(birth announcements) continued:

Grandview, Warren Peter. Male, Gotham Methodist. Mother Juliette Grandview (no father named). 17 May, 9:49 pm, 21", 10#, 2 oz.

Grayson, Mary Elizabeth. Female, Gotham General. Parents Barbara and Richard Grayson, 17 May, 11:59 pm, 18", 8#, 13 oz.

Harrison, Benjamin. Male, Gotham Jewish. Parents Carole and Thomas Harrison...

* * *

Saturday, May 18, 2002:  
Gotham City, 800 Skald Street: 06:17 (GMT +5)

Edward put down his coffee cup, and neatly folded the Gotham Post, arranging it in sectional order. According to the newspaper, he was in the clear, but he wanted to review one more time, to make certain there was nothing he had overlooked.

'_Surgical gloves under my traditional white gloves_,' he considered. '_That will eliminate fingerprints or DNA samples, and the weapon was Jervis', I never touched it. The fatal round destroyed the device, the control was dropped in the river, attached to a key chain. Once I hatted Jervis, I donned a breath mask for the same reason, as I removed his store of recorded surveillance tapes, which were bulk-erased, daytime talk show gibberish was recorded over them, and then run through another magnetic field of a different polarity_.' He took another sip of coffee, retracing his actions. '_The car I used was properly stolen, purchased for cash from a chop-shop, the ID was a single-use fake. The ID was destroyed, burnt in an acetylene torch and then flushed. The erased videotapes were disposed of in three different landfills, the overalls were laundered twice and given to a street bum_.' He eyed his coffee cup, deciding against another cup. '_The only things left are the car and the torch, and I can claim a legitimate use in the torch, in dismantling my lairs_.' He sighed, '_To Three Corners to dispose of the car, I always did hate Gremlins_.'

* * *

"I smell a set-up," Harvey proclaimed that evening at the Iceberg. "Three Rogues killed, someone is hunting us. I suspect a Bat."

"Nonsense," Eddie declared. "Firstly, it would go against their 'no killing' code, and what would be the purpose? After all, they had plenty of chances to off Jack, and wound up, albeit reluctantly, saving his worthless life on multiple occasions. If they will do that for Joker, I doubt they would off one of us. Secondly, we are, after all, 'insane', so we must be alive to be treated in that wonderful place we know as Arkham."

"Which has such a high success rate," Pamela said, motioning for a refill. "Still, is anyone here mourning Jack? I thought it was poetic that he was offed in the shower." Sparrow brought over her fresh drink, reclaiming the empty glasses, and nodding as Harvey indicated he wanted another pair of doubles.

"Professor Crane stuffed his intelligence full of straw," Eddie said contemptuously. "Now that was a true crime, a brain of his caliber doing a Dillinger, robbing banks." He waved his arm in the air like an old fashioned Thompson, saying, "Stick 'em up!"

"Then why hasn't anyone claimed the bounty on the Bat?" Harvey asked. "Twenty mil is not chump change."

"Perhaps Luthor did it," Eddie suggested. "He's got the entire federal government, and the Bat certainly pissed him off. Besides, we're still here, aren't we? If it were a junior Bat, a kilo of Composition B would have done us all very neatly at the wake Ozzie threw, now wouldn't it?"

kwak "He has a point," the Penguin said. "Besides, some of you are in arrears regarding your bar tabs, which eliminates my doing it."

"Ah, as to that," Eddie said, passing over some folded bills. "Five thousand on mine, Oswald." He watched as Cobblepot quickly counted, it was best to pay some of the Penguin's bills publicly. "As far as myself, I was off-planet at the time Professor Crane was harvested, and in the hospital for a birth at the time Jervis killed himself, so I am not a suspect."

"A birth?" Pamela asked.

"I do have friends outside our little family," Eddie said with dignity. "A nice young couple was giving birth, and I have multiple witnesses from the waiting room." He turned to Pamela, "Where were you, my dear?"

"I have a few trinkets to dispose of," Poison Ivy told Oswald. "Perhaps we should discuss them?"

kwak "Certainly, my dear, shall we?" He held Ivy's chair, adding, "I shall be down with a receipt shortly, Edward." Turning to the statuesque redhead, he offered an arm, "My dear?"

* * *

Monday, May 20, 2002:  
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 13:11 (GMT +2)

Elena came back from lunch to see an official-looking envelope on her bunk. Taking a deep breath, she popped the seal with a fingernail, pulling out several sheets. Looking them over, she went out to the common room to see a few other people looking at orders. "Did anyone else get TAD?"

"I did," Melissa Jourdan said. "M/V McCoy, and a transfer to Intelligence."

"So did I, what does that mean about being a plank owner on the Rostock?"

"You're still one, that's your permanent assignment. That's what TAD is, temporary active duty, and because it's Intelligence, we wear mufti. Civvies, and we can't talk about it." Melissa waved her orders, "16 June to Eunomia. Should be interesting."

* * *

_Date: 20 May, 2002  
To: Mom (home)  
From: Morton, Elena  
Subject: Re-assignment!_

_Hi, Mom,_

_I got re-assigned, but I'm still a plank owner on the Rostock while she goes back to the yard. Dad would call this 'TAD'. I can't talk about it, security and all that._

_In other news, you're going to floo into Athens? That sounds cool, I think the Greek government has set up floo locations in their airports. I'll try to get a pass to come meet you, otherwise I'll see you after the ceremony._

_Love to all,  
Elena_

* * *

Tuesday, May 21, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table: 12:08 (GMT)

Mattie made her way down the aisle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. As she booted her laptop to check her mail, Amy Johnson leaned back, "Mattie, we both received an email from Pansy regarding the Phobos project. We'll..."

"And what is that project, Miss Wayne?" Mousy, one of the OFSTED inspectors asked, licking his pencil as he turned to a fresh page in his notebook. "I want to see both of your laptops."

"Regarding what?" Mattie asked politely.

"Everything," he replied as her email 'binged' with new messages. "I want to see everything in both your laptops, right now. I especially want to see this Phobos project, and whatever else you've got."

"You'll have to be a bit more specific, sir," Amy asked.

"I am being specific," he replied. "You're both being uncooperative and rude. Everything, now."

"As we both have quite a bit of classified information, I need to ask what your security clearance is," Mattie replied as she shut down her laptop, packing it away. Amy started to do hers as well, as Mattie pulled her bags back on her shoulder. Mousy started to grab for her laptop, with a flick of her wand, it vanished, and he growled and turned to Amy, who said, "Pear room," and tapped herself with her wand to Disillusion herself. He turned back, and Wayne had also disappeared.

"Where is the Pear room?" he demanded.

"It's a pear-shaped room on the seventh floor," one of the Slytherin students replied. A Ravenclaw prefect added, "You need to look for the statue of the crone with the hump, then complement her arse to get in. She's very sensitive about that, you have to be believable."

"How do I know you're not lying?" Mousy demanded.

"Sir!" Orla Quirk replied, offended. "I am a Ravenclaw Prefect! Would I lie?"

* * *

"So, anyway, Mattie," Amy said as they ate at the small table in the kitchens, a floor below the Great Hall, "We got an email from Pansy about vacuum rated construction equipment..."

* * *

Friday, May 24, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Staff room: 07:03 (GMT)

Minerva stood, as the last of her faculty settled at table with tea. She smiled grimly, and passed down binders, "Thank you all for coming to this special meeting. Please take the one with your name. The first section is the overview of our OFSTED inspection, some departments came out well. Others..." she looked about, "...did not."

"I foresee alterations," Callista Vector said. "Expensive ones."

"You foresee correctly," Minerva replied. "One of them are the stairways. I did explain that they have been moving since the Founders, and some of the trick stairs are as old, but that did not carry weight. The fact that there are no safety barriers for the platforms and they float in midair, several floors up, was particularly upsetting, they believed a child might fall off." She took a calming sip of tea, "They recommended that the main staircase to the first floor stay, and from there, fixed stairs on the north and south sides go to the different floors. In addition, if we cannot remove the trick stairs, they should be covered or marked."

"We shall need a wizarding contractor," Severus said. "How long do we have for these corrections?"

"First August, before classes resume," Minerva replied.

"Are they daft?" Hagrid asked.

"No, they are bureaucrats," Lara Croft replied. "Can we at least prioritize them?"

"On the list," the Headmistress replied. "The next one is the owl mail service. They believe that, however charming, wild animals would contaminate food with feathers, dung, and so forth. They are willing to make a concession regarding our security, and have the mail delivered to a post box in the muggle village outside Hogsmeade. That would require a daily mail run by someone." Hagrid waved his hand, and Minerva made a note. "For those that insist on using owl post, we will need to have a central person to route it to. Rubeus?"

"Aye," he replied. "Can we have summat the students deliver to their houses, for points?" he suggested. "Prefects, mayhap?"

"That would work," Pomona said, and Minerva jotted a note. "Moving on, support services, the kitchen, laundry, and so forth. The inspectors were appalled at the lack of safety gear, open flames, and the pay scale offered to the elves. I informed him that I had tried to increase their pay and insist they use protective clothing, and invited him to take it up with the elves himself." A chuckle ran around the room, as she continued, "He was as successful as I have been, it is listed as a 'needs improvement' item."

The staff laughed, and Minerva looked up, "Baron? Are you available?"

"Of course," the Slytherin house ghost said, appearing. She asked, "What about Peeves? He was unusually ... restrained, for him."

"We informed him that, should the school close, he would have to relocate to a muggle graveyard. He found that prospect rather boring, now that the inspectors are gone, expect more of his 'fun'," the Bloody Baron replied. "One did ask if we assisted the students during examinations, I found that highly insulting, and informed him so. He almost swallowed his pencil."

"Thank you, Baron. That same gentleman thought Quidditch was far too violent, I had the impression he would have preferred a nice tiddlywinks competition." Another chuckle, and Harry asked, "He's seen muggle schools with scratch football teams, hasn't he?"

"I'm sure he has," Lara replied. "I wonder what he would have thought of the tourney we had last month."

"Appalled, I'm certain," Remus said dryly. "What is next?"

"Our student's, and indeed our own, diet. Appalling amounts of red meat, vast quantities, no visible leftovers, a high starch diet," she tisked. "More grains and roughage, and yes, Poppy, I know you have made recommendations. I said that, and that they simply weren't popular. We scored better on exercise, with the exception of a certain percentage of lazy-bones, including among the staff. We should be leading by example, so I will require the same two hours of exercise per week from all of us as we do from the students." There was a series of groans, "That does not mean standing about with a clipboard and timing charm. I myself intend to sponsor the Hogwarts Golf club."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Severus said. "Should I mention our contracts, you will simply respond 'Other duties as assigned'?"

"Precisely," Minerva said. "Come now, two hours over the course of a week? I know I can certainly use it, and I know we have several students who play golf, we could do house or school teams, play against other schools..."

"Not everything revolves about a six-iron, Minerva," Severus replied. "I shall have to consider this, possibly tennis, shall we move on?"

"Yes, the library," and Madame Pince stiffened. "The book-scanning project, Irma, why has it halted?"

"It was a waste of time," she snapped. "It disorganized my library, took up far too much room, and for the most part, did not work. The large majority of texts are copy protected. When scanned, what appears on the copy is not what is on the original. In most cases, the copies are simply blank, but in a few, the copies contain changed, or even dangerously contrary, information. The Slytherin library was particularly bad about it."

"I do apologize," Severus said. "I asked several students to remove those spells, I know I tested several books myself with that equipment and had no difficulties. Some of the spells must have been missed, have you set those aside?"

"Severus and I both donated books for scanning from our private libraries, and our house libraries," Filius said gently. "If there is a difficulty, we might do a bit of re-arranging in order to resolve it." The little wizard tented his fingers, "The equipment is paid for, after all."

"Classroom 13," Minerva said. "The one inspector with the pencil?"

"Mousy?" Lara asked. "Yes, a disgusting habit of his, licking his pencil. What of him?"

"He wanted to know what was in there. I informed him that we were contracted with Arrowhead, and the contents of that room were confidential. He then tried to sneak in during the Thursday evening meetings and did not succeed."

"I should hope not," Filius said. "I constructed those wards very carefully."

"He then tried to confront Miss Wayne directly, by demanding she turn over her laptop to him," and several people chuckled. "She politely declined, and asked what he wished to see. He replied, 'Everything!' and she asked for his security clearance." More instructors chuckled, "He then tried to snatch it, and she banished it somewhere and simply disillusioned herself. He decided to call her 'uncooperative and rude'." She raised a hand, "That did show up in our report, labeling some of our faculty and students 'abrasive, insulting and un-cooperative'. I will of course dispute this."

"Miss Johnson had a run-in with this inspector at the same time," Filius said.

Lara Croft nodded. "This particular inspector has apparently become accustomed to bullying and browbeating students and faculty due to his position with OFSTED."

"Mr. Morton as well," Pomona said. "He apparently tried to work his way into his confidence, hoping he would spill her dirty laundry."

"We shall definitely file a complaint against him," Minerva said. "No pranks on him, though."

"That should prove interesting," Filius said. "I understand both Miss Johnson and Miss Wayne filed reports with their respective security offices."

Severus gave a nasty chuckle, "Pity we can't watch. How were your resident inspectors?"

"No reports other than surprise regarding the portraits," Harry said. "I'm glad Mousy wasn't assigned to us, he would have been hexed within the first hour."

"He was assigned to Ravenclaw," Filius said. "Fortunately in a dorm with muggle-born wizards, who were aware of OFSTED and our situation, and simply 'forgot' some elementary charms, leaving him to bumble about in the dark. They were of course very apologetic."

"Of course," Minerva said. "Moving on, individual classes. Hagrid, the unicorn you showed the second-years. Didn't you warn the inspector?"

"Aye," he said. "The bloke insisted on approachin' th' foal, and th' dam took offense. I asked him tae stay back with the other males, but..." he shrugged.

"Well, he was frightened off. I did suggest you use..."

"...inoffensive creatures, instead of interestin' ones. Aye, but they're borin', 'tis why I used the unicorn, I thought he might enjoy wee Fluffy, also. He is a sweet pup..."

"The hellhound is fifteen feet at the shoulder, with three heads," Severus said dryly. "I would agree that a 'pup' his size might make a good impression. Pity he didn't meet Mousy."

"We can invite..." Harry said, but didn't finish when Minerva glared at him.

"Potions," and Minerva tapped the report. "Primarily safety issues, Severus. Noxious ingredients, confined spaces, inadequate ventilation, no emergency exits." She shook her head, "I am sorry, but we will need to move the Potions classroom. We will, of course connect doorways between the current dungeons, your office, and so forth. We cannot wiggle out of this one. We can move the walls, or remove them between classrooms 14 and 16. That also means you must use a different ward on the doors, people must be able to leave quickly."

Severus grumbled, and Harry said, "I'll be more than happy to help move kit, and I have to get my beasties through Hagrid."

"I shall... let you know, Minerva, what my requirements are," the Potion Master grumbled, and Lara said, "It's not like you're being asked to paint it pink."

"Don't remind me of the Weasley Twins," Severus said as Minerva moved on to Divination, "Sybill? Where is she?"

"Undoubtedly in her room with a 120 proof headache," Aurora said with a yawn. "What's the news there?"

"Similar to Severus, no ventilation, no emergency exits, and no disabled access." Minerva said, adding, "The inspector had to leave after fifteen minutes, she couldn't breathe, Poppy had to treat her. That did not go over well," she added dryly.

Tapping her notes into line, the Headmistress said, "We do have quite a few bright spots. Aurora, your gadget had them astounded. Where did you say it was from?"

"Just that it was picked up off-planet," the Astronomy teacher said, inspecting her nails.

* * *

Friday, May 24, 2002:  
London, OFSTED, Inspections division: 10:52 (GMT)

"Mr. Terwillinger, there's a few people here to see you," Mr. Katzen, his supervisor said, somewhat nervously. "Please come with me."

Jeremy Terwillinger carefully laid down his pencil. Donning his jacket, he shot the cuffs and straightened his tie, then accompanied Mr. Katzen to the conference room. Inside, there were several men. Some were large, others were nondescript, and there was one young woman in a conservative beige suit with vibrant pink hair. He stopped for a moment, then took the seat indicated as the door closed behind him with a quiet click.

For a minute, no one spoke, then the young woman leaned forward, "Mr. Terwillinger? My name is Tonks. Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We're here about your recent trip to Hogwarts," she said with a bright smile, then sat back as the big bloke leaned forward, "I'm Mr. Thompson, Arrowhead Security." He indicated a very nondescript man next to him, "This bloke is..."

"Rasputin. Guard Counter-Intelligence, seconded from KGB, Second Chief Directorate." He leaned forward, his eyes very hard, "To right is Comrade Duchovski, is 'Five'. End is Comrade von Hess, is Greywolf Security." He stared into Jeremy's frightened eyes, "Why you want look in laptops, Citizen Terwillinger?"

* * *

Monday, May 27, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Herbology class: 09:05 (GMT)

"Good morning, good morning," Professor Sprout said, as she welcomed the first-years. "This is your first wizarding examination, I'm certain you'll do famously." She smiled cheerfully as she continued, "We supply the quills and parchment, you'll have until eleven to tell me the magical properties and preparation of the different plants on the board, then we do a quick practical." She tapped her wand to display them, wishing them all, "Good luck!"

Bill groaned to himself, then looked at the board, '_Anise. What's that used for_?' He thought for a minute, then asked himself, '_Didn't I use that in a potion_?' He started to write:

_Anise, or fennel, is a flowering plant found in the eastern Mediterranian. It's an annual, growing up to a meter tall, and the seeds are powdered for use in digestive potions like..._

* * *

Monday, May 27, 2002:  
Hogwarts, DADA class: 13:03 (GMT)

Professor Harry closed the roll, and smiled at his second-year class. "Good afternoon, and I'm sure all of you are ready for your final examination." Julia swallowed as he continued, "It's a simple practical exam, the longer you last, the higher your grade. Put your bags against the far wall," he said as he waved his wand, the chairs shot away from under the students (putting some of the slower ones on their arse). He finished, "No Unforgivable or dark spells, please," and he cast a shield charm. "Good luck to everyone!"

Julie dropped and rolled, casting 'Confundo' as the classroom exploded into chaos.

* * *

Tuesday, May 28, 2002:  
Hogwarts, History class: 09:07 (GMT)

"Good morning, everyone," Professor Lupin said with a smile to the class of first-years. "I'm certain you're doing wonderfully so far. Today's your History examination, as you may have guessed." Chuckles went through the room as he said, "Quills and parchment are provided, I need to know what happened in the period 1650 through 1700," and he raised a finger at the groans, "Wizarding as well as muggle, please."

* * *

Wednesday, May 29, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall: 09:11 (GMT)

"Fifth-years with names F through J, please," the matron guarding the doorway called, and Amy took a deep breath and entered the Great Hall. Instead of the normal rows of House tables, there were rows of small tables, with the OWL Examiners seated facing the students. Proctors guided them, Amy took a seat before one ancient witch, who smiled.

"Good morning, dearie. I'm Mrs. Marchbanks," and she smiled as Amy's eyes went wide. "Yes, I'm _that_ Mrs. Marchbanks, I seem to get some of the most talented witches and wizards. One of them was... well, we needn't go there. You are...?"

Amy licked dry lips, this was the _Grand Dame_ of the Wizarding Examination Board, why she had examined _Dumbledore_! "I'm... I'm Amy Johnson," she got out.

Mrs. Marchbanks tutted a bit, "I'm not going to _eat_ you, dearie," she said, conjuring a crystal goblet of water for her. "Wet your throat, and then, if you would, transfigure that goblet into a rabbit for me."

* * *

Wednesday, May 29, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Potions class: 13:00 (GMT)

The bell rang, and students instantly fell silent. Professor Snape flicked his wand at the door to ward it, his gaze sweeping over the attentive students. He grunted, then addressed the fourth-years, "You have done examinations before, we have a two hour written, then a two hour practical examination. Those of you with mobiles will pass them up, you may only use your notes on the practical." He passed a small box down the first row as the various mobiles were collected, "We provide quills and parchment, extra is on the table." He set the box aside, tapping his wand on the board, he turned a sand-clock, "Begin."

* * *

"Okay, what was the third plant he had, the one with reddish leaves?" Arthur asked as they left the classroom.

"Gingold," Mattie answered. "The one that was glowing was what?"

"Wolf flower," Sprink replied. "You crush one o' the seeds for the wolfsbane potion. The little black herb with the tiny white blossoms?"

"Moly," one of the twins answered. "What about that purple algae? I don't remember..."

* * *

Thursday, May 30, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Charms class: 13:05 (GMT)

Professor Flitwick looked up from the roll, "Miss Wayne... Ah, there you are. I'd like to wish you in advance a very happy birthday tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. He clapped his hands, "I know you want to get this week over with, so for your written examination, we're going to do something new." He waved his wand, and with a flutter of paper, stapled forms flew to the students. "By now, you know about the quills, you have a sheet of parchment if you wish to use it. For those of you who haven't seen these, some of the questions you fill in the missing word or phrase, others you would choose options off a list." He smiled at them, "Name and year at the top, of course, I'm looking forward to seeing how this works out."

Clapping his hands again, "Bring them up when you're finished, you've two hours, then we'll have a bit of fun with the practical." He flicked his wand, a large timing charm appeared in midair.

* * *

The timing charm gave a 'brappp' sound, and Professor Flitwick looked up, "Quills down, please, pass up any parchment and the examinations, please." He hopped down from his chair, collecting the exams, as he did so, he said, "For your practical, you will draw two charms from the bowl and perform them. As we usually start with the 'A' end of the alphabet, let's start with the other end this time. Miss Wayne, if you would, please?" The tiny professor gestured to the front of the class, and Mattie cleared her throat, drew her wand and strode forward as the bowl was levitated to her.

Drawing a charm, she said, "The severing charm, sir." Passing the slip of paper to the instructor, she waited while he conjured a thick blue blanket, which hovered in front of her. She flicked her wand, calling, '_Diffindo_', and a slash appeared across the blanket. Professor Flitwick poked his head through, "That seems to have worked, Miss Wayne. Please repair it."

"Of course, sir," and flicked her wand again, '_Reparo_'. The slash disappeared, and Flitwick banished the blanket, gesturing toward the bowl again.

She drew, "The refilling charm," and a glass goblet were conjured. Flitwick tapped it with his wand, and water filled it. He gestured, and Mattie took a few swallows, then tapped her wand, '_Repleo_' and the goblet was once again full.

"Excellent! Full marks, Miss Wayne. You're done, you may stay, or leave, as you wish." She moved back to her seat as Professor Flitwick called, "Miss Tonks, shall we give it a go?"

* * *

Mattie waited outside the classroom, Arthur joining her shortly. She leaned back against the cool stone wall, "That's it, mine are done. Professor Snape said I could take off early, how about you guys?"

"Bill's still got his DADA exam tomorrow morning, when Julie's got Charms. Do you care about the leaving feast?"

"I should, house loyalty and all, but this weekend is just packed with stuff to do." She levered herself off the wall, "I'm going to go get some packing done, I need to call your dad and Becky, we're taking an early floo to Athens." She looked up as the Cortez sisters came out, "I'm shrinking and leaving my trunk here at the townhouse over the summer, just taking my books back to the States. If you want to do that, get your stuff packed up, you can store it with mine."

"Good idea," Arthur said. "We'll do that and store it at Becky's place." He yawned, "I've got to wait for Julie and Bill tomorrow, so... no, that doesn't work."

"Shrink them and leave them at my place, I've got room," Charlie said. "We can get our shopping done when we get back from our bimble." He looked at the others, "Anne I know about. What about the rest of you lot?"

Roshawn said, "Mom's insurance payoff finally came, Dad said we can take pilot lessons. Our birthday is in July, so we do the written, then when we turn, the practical."

Shaundra added, "We should have the first ones by the end of summer."

Andrew said, "Too much work. I'm for enjoying the summer, mate," Amanda nodded. Felicia said, "The brewery I worked at sent me a letter, asking if I was available." She sighed, "The lessons sound like fun, but Professor McGonagall can't afford them. I'm staying with friends of hers in Dublin while they're on their honeymoon."

* * *

Thursday, May 30, 2002:  
London, Blackwall, Council Housing: 23:25 (GMT)

The Pimpernel silently descended on the street gang that had cornered the four university students. No one saw her in the shadows as the gang taunted their victims. '_Pitiful_,' she thought. '_Knives and one gun, they wouldn't last two minutes in Gotham. But I need this, I'll take what I can get_.' She worked her way to the gunman, quietly taking him out and emptying the revolver. Tossing the gun in an open skip, she threw one of the bullets against a window, where it bounced of with a satisfying 'click'.

"Eh? What was that?" the leader demanded, startled. "You come out, now!"

The Pimpernel threw another bullet, where it banged off a rubbish bin, startling a rat. While the others were distracted, she took out another gang member with a silent blow, levitating him off into the skip. Her third throw shattered a light bulb, dropping part of the alley into darkness. "Who's there?" the leader demanded as another one of his gang vanished into the night. '_Four left, plus the leader_,' she thought as he screamed, "Who's bloody there? SHOW YOURSELVES!"

She threw the fourth bullet, where it 'ticked' off the old brick walls. As the fourth gang member vanished, one of the female victims screamed, pointing in her general direction. One of the gang charged in the Pimpernel's direction, rewarded a few seconds later by an 'OOF' and the crash of steel rubbish bins. The gang leader grabbed the screaming student, holding his knife next to her neck, "If you don't show yourself, I'll cut her, swear I will!" he declared as he licked dry lips.

"I don't think so," a soft voice said in the darkness as another wanna-be goon vanished. "You're alone, outnumbered..."

"WHO ARE YOU?" he shouted, forgetting his victim, who squirmed away. He held the knife up, "I'll cut you, I swear, you bloody chit!"

"I go by the Pimpernel," she said, twisting his arm behind him. She clipped him on the back of the head, as a male student was on his mobile. "You all right, miss?" she asked the girl who had briefly been hostage.

"Yes," she said, shaking her head. "Yes, I'm fine. You said you're called the Pimpernel?"

"I'm back," she replied, handing each girl a flower before fading into the shadows. One sniffed at hers, remarking, "It's fresh."

* * *

The Pimpernel rose out of the shadows into the city's night, turning to fly south, when she pulled up, her back to a skyscraper. Above her, the pyramid on the roof glowed white as she crossed her arms, cape making her a shadow against the glow of office lights in the tower. One of the group confronting her said, rather officiously, "We are the London..."

"...Guardian Council. Long winded name. Go Guard someplace, I have work to do."

"We have heard of one such as you..." a spindly female said, and raised a hand to her head, "I cannot read her..."

"Better and worse than you have tried," the Pimpernel said, fading from view. Some of the council were confused, the spindly female made a few motions, then said, "Spitalfields. Northwest.".

* * *

Football hooligans were celebrating a win by having a riot, the black-robed figure was assisting the lone pair of Bobbies until their reinforcements arrived. She spun and danced, kicking and punching, until the 'we-wo' sirens arrived, then vanished from sight.

"Very nice," the one gaudily-dressed figure as the Pimpernel sat on the edge of a roof. "As I was about to say..."

"Shut it, you," she replied. "How'd you find me so quickly?"

"Wraith simply cast a directional spell," the blue-clad Boatman said. "You do move quickly."

"Wraith, eh?" The Pimpernel pointed and said, 'Expelliarmus!' and the Wraith's wand flew from her hand, while she staggered back. The Boatman caught her before she fell off the roof.

"My wand!" she called, then 'Accio wand!' and a wand flew back to her. The Pimpernel was unmoved, "Some of us don't need wands," she said, turning her back to the group and flying away.

"This isn't my wand," she said, a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

* * *

Friday, May 31, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin dorms: 06:24 (GMT)

"This isn't mine," Ami Bones said, holding up an oblong crystal ring. Sprink walked over, then said, "It's Mattie's, her Uncle Clark gave it to her. I'll give it to her when we meet for the bimble." Connie Koslowski looked up from her packing, "It's a pretty one," and tried it on, then started back as translucent forms appeared.

_Professor Snape sat next to a Hogwarts Infirmary bed, in which Mattie lay sleeping. Wand in his hand, he snarled quietly "What do you want?" at the figure that floated over the bed._

"That's a Guardian of Oa!" Connie squeaked, recognizing the short humanoid with the blue skin and magenta robes. The image floated over Mattie's unconscious form, his left hand extended to keep her still. He seemed completely unconcerned with the wand, after a minute, he said, _"She regards you as family, as someone to be protected, as you do, though you deny it. She is fighting to regain consciousness, she has detected my presence and wishes to protect you. Be at peace, I mean none ill."_

The image of Professor Snape grunted, eying the Oan, then sat back in the wooden chair, asking, _"Why are you here?"_

The image of the Oan replied, _"To inquire into her health, and to her reasons for not wearing her Ring." _He regarded the Potion Master, _"That is a false Ring she wears, why does she wear it?"_

Connie asked, "Mattie has a Power Ring?" as Professor Snape's image snorted and replied, _"The genuine one has given her a multitude of problems, even without your summoning her. She has secured it, she does not want it, and she tried to give it back to you. Why do you insist she keep it if you don't summon her?"_

"Even I've heard of the Oan Power Rings," Ami Bones said. The young pureblood witch watched as the Oan replied, _"Not all who wear a Ring use it to combat those who would do evil. She is doing more to correct a long term problem without it than others have when they wore it."_

Professor Snape's image finally sheathed his wand, _"The galactic slavery problem, the one that she despises you for not addressing."_

The Guardian bowed his head, _"The same. A being in my position can read the time lines. When your Terran Empire..."_ Sprink panicked, "Turn it off! Turn it off! They're discussing the future!"

"I don't know how!" Connie said, equally panicked, as the image of Professor Snape asked, _"Terran Empire?"_

The Oan replied, _"Indeed. The most probable one has your Terran Star Federation reluctantly becoming the Terran Empire. This will happen within your limited lifespan."_ Sprink pulled her wand, casting '_Silencio_!' and the image played on silently as the three girls looked at each other. After a few minutes, the youngest, Ami, slid down her four-poster to sit on the floor, "What do we do?"

Connie looked up, where the images still continued to play silently above the closed ring box. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good thing to know the future."

"Oh, Merlin, no," Sprink said, sitting on her unmade bed, her hands in her face. "Do we ask Professor Snape to obliviate us? It would leave a hole in our memories."

"For now, we don't say anything to anyone," Connie said, as the image of Mattie Wayne lurched upright in her bed as the Guardian silently vanished. The image of Professor Snape handed her a glass of water as the recording ended. She eyed the innocuous ring box, a few centimeters square, sitting on the slate floor.

"Nothing to anyone," Ami said in agreement. "Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers..."

"No one," Sprink agreed. "Because if we do, billions die."

* * *

Friday, May 31, 2002:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, High Table: 08:10 (GMT)

"Sybill!" Minerva was surprised that the Divination instructor would show for breakfast, or indeed any meal. "We saved you a seat, an owl came for you earlier."

"Thank you," she whispered, pulling at the padded manila envelope. It popped, scattering staples, and she held it in her lap as she looked inside. Sucking in a breath, she gave a little cry as a red flower emerged from the envelope.

Pomona leaned forward to look, saying, "The Pimpernel's back!" Several students clapped, as Sybill quietly read the note attached to the wand inside the envelope: 'Carry a spare.'.

* * *

Friday, May 31, 2002:  
London, Kings Cross station, platform 9 3/4: 19:30 (GMT)

Susan waited with other relatives as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, clouds of steam billowing from it. She sipped on the take-away tea as students started to disembark, she waited until she saw her younger sister, who waved at her. Susan waved back, pushing her trolley over for Ami's trunk. "How's my favorite snake?" she asked, giving her sister a hug.

"Badger," Ami said, a ghost of a smile, as she stole Susan's take-away cuppa. "This year we finally took both the Quidditch cup and the House cup, although you've got a good Seeker."

"The Morton kid?" Susan said, as the platform master indicated they could go through the wall, no muggles were present. After they did, she continued, "I watched the game against France, he's not bad," as they made their way through the station toward the GNER platform. She looked around, then tapped Ami's trunk with her wand, shrinking it and stowing it in her bag as Ami returned the trolley. "So how's Mum?" Ami asked as they walked through the station.

"Fine," Susan replied, then pulled her younger sister aside, "Now, what's got your knickers in a twist? I know you, you're not usually this quiet."

"Something I really can't talk about, and please don't try," Ami said. "It's not anything... well, it's information I shouldn't have found out, and it could be dangerous. I haven't decided if I should ask to have the memory removed or not."

"Oh." Susan regarded her younger sister. "That bloody dangerous?" Ami nodded, and Susan said, "Right. No questions, but you'll have to be more normal for Mum," and held up her right hand, pinky finger hooked.

"I don't think I can talk to anyone about this, and there's nothing I can... well, right, then," and twisted her pinky with her sister's. Taking a breath, "How's Mum, anyway?"

"Working at the Ministry," Susan replied, as they resumed their journey toward the GNER platform. "They're finally getting a handle on..."

_**30**_


	18. Author

25 Aug 2008

I am unable to upload files (please see my profile for additional information). Please see the link for the Yahoo group on the profile page.

Thanks,  
Kara

karanne AT gmail DOT com


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